


Golden

by guidingkeys



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Band Fic, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Other, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 85,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23689819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guidingkeys/pseuds/guidingkeys
Summary: Her father always said there were two types of people in the world—those who listen to music, and those who live within it. Eren built a home in it, desperate to furnish it.
Relationships: Annie Leonhart & Eren Yeager, Carla Yeager & Eren Yeager, Eren Yeager & Grisha Yeager, Hitch Dreyse & Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss, Hitch Dreyse/Annie Leonhart (minor), Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss & Frieda Reiss, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Eren Yeager
Comments: 223
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super excited to write this!
> 
> And, yes, the title is from Harry Styles’ “Golden”

Eren pulled open the front door, the weathered hinges groaning like a tractor truck blazing by. No point ever sneaking out of the house. "I'm leaving!"

Titan, his barely year old Pitbull, trotted out of his room. She stuck her nose under the hot pink harness Eren always left on the stand in their hallway, effectively hooking it around her snout. She brought it over to him and sat, patient.

Eren wished he didn't have to go to school.

" _Eren!_ " His mother screeched from the kitchen. "Your father's _sleeping!"_

Eren stared at the back of his mother's up-do. _And how's_ that _supposed to help him sleep?_ The woman had no radio dial when it came to her voice. _Like mother like son,_ he guessed.

He bit his tongue, though, and scratched Titan behind her ears. "Sorry, Ma," Eren muttered to her. Then, to his dog, he bent a little lower, still kneading her head. "Not today, mamita. I gotta go. We'll do it when I get home. Okay?"

Titan didn't understand, staring up at him expectantly with those pretty honey eyes that complimented her tan fur. Eren felt _terrible_. He didn't train her for this. He didn't even prepare _himself_ for this. All it'd taken was three short months to get attached to this sweet creature.

His mom rounded the arched wall between their kitchen, sweeping into their equally small living room. She wiped bread crumbs off the corner of her mouth with a manicured finger before she beckoned. "Titan, baby," She commanded softly. "Here, girl." She pat her thigh.

She obeyed Carla instantly, the harness dragging across the tiled floor.

"Aww! Look at you bringing me your harness like a good girl!" Carla slipped the harness off her nose and set it on the coffee table. She bent her knees, kneading Titan's white, meaty neck. "Who's my good girl?" TItan's stub of a tail flickered. "That's right! You're the good girl! You hungry, honey-bee? Did your brother forget to feed you this morning?"

Nails pitter-pattered on the tile in excitement. Titan took care not to jump on Carla the same way she loved jumping on Eren when he announced it was time to eat. Titan couldn't help it. She was a total fatass, easily excited over food and treats, and for many months, that had been the only way to get her to interact with them.

For a woman who was so against having pets, his mom warmed up to Titan right away. She looked hard and mean, but Titan was so revoltingly sweet once she burst out of her shell. His mom could only resist it for so long. The first couple of weeks were hell. Titan cried the whole first bath, even peed. Sometimes she'd refuse to eat. She'd hide under their tables, squeeze her way behind the touch. Getting her used to a hardness resulted in bites. Eren had a nasty scar on his hand from it. Eren and his father worked the most to gain this dog's trust, but she'd immediately found solace in Carla, of all people. He'd been so jealous at first.

Eren caught them napping together frequently, way before Titan worked the courage to climb in his bed. He'd find his mom's arm thrown around Titan's body, both of them snoring and drooling on his parents' brand new California king bed. His father didn't like it, but only because Titan's fur and smell happened to be on _his_ side of the bed.

The blow dryer was still Titan's arch-nemesis, though. No amount of treats and baby talk could ever dissuade her hatred for that appliance. She wasn't fond of loud noises.

His mom poured their dog her food in the kitchen, careful not to drop the bowl on the floor too loudly. Eren was about to step out now that Titan was distracted, but Carla had other plans. "Did you print out your schedule?"

He could almost roll his eyes. Titan scarfed down her meal. "I memorized it last night. Bye, Ma."

"Hey, wait! Hold on a minute!" Eren paused, gritting his teeth. "Are you sure you don't need to print it out?"

He wanted to hang his head. _Why do we go through this every single year?_ "I'll write it on my phone when I'm on the bus, okay? I gotta go now—"

Grisha shuffled down the hallway, his brown bathrobe wrapped tight around him. Whether he'd appeared because of the aroma of coffee covering the house, or his mother's yelling, Eren wasn't sure. Both. He rubbed his sleepy eyes, his glasses perched on top of his tousled brown hair. "Mijo, just take a moment and print it out. It won't kill you." His dad yawned, stretching out his back before he took a seat on the leather couch. "It'll put your mother at ease."

"Darling," Carla cooed, rushing over to him with her sparkling pink mug in hand. She handed it to him, and Grisha accepted it though they drank their coffee differently. His father always preferred it sweet. "We're so sorry for waking you up!"

 _We?_ Eren wanted to say to her. And to his dad, he wanted to point out that the printer was old. It purred like an old, angry kitten. It'd take _days_ to print out a single sheet. _No way in hell!_ Eren wanted to yell. Every second wasted only increased his chances of running into _them._ They shouldn't be up this early, but Eren had a nasty habit of underestimating their tenacity. Avoiding them all summer had been one thing. Now that school was back in action, Eren had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

His dad shook his head and took a sip. His nose crinkled, eyes blinking in surprise at what Eren imagined was an overdose of what was utterly black coffee. Grisha didn't voice a complaint. "It's fine, cariño." He smiled sleepily, all perfect white teeth, his smooth cheeks lined in laugh lines. "I just wanted to see my son off on his last first day."

"I can't, Pa," Eren said. "You know I'll be here until noon." He glanced back outside. Officer Grice's bulldog led their walk down the sidewalk like every morning around this time. Early signs of dawn broke through in the east. The last thing he wanted right before he even stepped foot on the bus was a confrontation. "Look, I gotta go. I'm already cutting it close and you guys gotta work soon."

"Well. I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you printed it out, Eren," Carla insisted, back in the kitchen. Now that Grisha was up, his mom was in full force, pots and pans banging, opening and closing the fridge. "Doesn't Jean normally pick you? He shouldn't be here for another… thirty minutes."

"Jean's not picking me up anymore. We agreed I'd take the bus this year, Ma."

"Yeah, I know. It's just strange." She said, the coffee machine brewing and rattling. His mom planted her hip on the counter, swiveling in his direction, biting her lip. "Oh, well. Never mind," She waved off whatever thought she had. "I'm sure Armin and Mikasa printed out theirs!"

"Yeah. _Well_." Eren forked a hand through his hair. It was almost long enough to tie up. He wasn't sure how he felt about it being so long, but he didn't care to cut it either. "I'm not them, Ma. Never have been."

"That's not how I meant it, honey. I just mean you should take a thing or two out of their books and be more responsible!" Her long, ankle skirt billowed behind her as his mom swept into the living room. She traded his father's favorite Frenchie patterned mug for hers. She fixed Eren a glare. "What if you don't remember? What if you don't have service again? An extra precaution goes a long way, young man! You need to start thinking about these things. Back-up plans are a must in this life."

Eren kneaded his temples, a dull ache already throbbing in the back of his skull. He was glad he never developed his mother's habit of overthinking, the worries that had no limitations. How had his mother _not_ driven herself insane? Eren felt like he was more of his father's son, calm as still water on his best days, despite having grown up with his mother's delicate features and thick, black hair.

" _Ma,_ " Eren strained. "Nothing's gonna happen, okay?" Eren dropped his hand at his side; the chain clipped onto his belt loop clinking softly. "Why do we go through this _every year?"_

Carla's dark browns snapped together. "Because it happens _every year_ —" She said, mimicking his voice. "—and you insist on being stubborn."

 _Thank God_ _it's the last year_ , Eren thought snidely. And then it would be off. To where, he wasn't sure yet—actually, Eren didn't care as long as it was far as fuck away from this town. He wasn't sure how to break the news to his parents.

Eren was surprised to see Grisha's lips thin in agreement, a smile wrinkling the corners of his grey eyes. Done gobbling up her food like her last day on Earth, Titan joined Grisha on the couch. She helped herself to his lap. His hand automatically landed on her head. "Sorry, mijo. But your mother's right. I can take you to school?"

"That's a little embarrassing, Pa. Almost everyone at school's got a car."

His dad shrugged. "You should've bought the senior pass. I would've given you my car."

Point. Eren already knew that, though. That wasn't the reason he hadn't bought a senior parking pass.

He held up a pacifying palm. "Can you just trust me this time, Ma?" Carla opened her mouth to protest, but Eren cut her off. "I _really_ gotta go now. I just saw the bus." A lie, but it wasn't like Carla would get up and check.

Grisha raised his mug slightly. "Have a great day, mijo," His father grinned over his coffee mug, somewhat more awake than before. "¡Aprender algo!"

Eren smiled slightly. "Está por verse."

His mom lowered onto the armrest, staring at him over her mug. "And don't you forget about this afternoon, Eren." She warned.

Oh. Right. He did forget about that, though his tendons and recently healed ankle sure hadn't. Backyard work became his mom's newest hobby over the summer.

The two of them had reconstructed the entire patio. Dug up the flooring. Installed a green wall. Equipped the deck with a new wicker set and big pillows that complimented a bold ottoman. She also added a touch of fake greenery and paper lanterns Mikasa would've loved. His mom should've gone to school for design. The two of them had started building the pavilion themselves. Still, they didn't get halfway before Eren told her she needed to hire professionals. He'd suffered enough with the splinters, and a sprained ankle was the last straw. Carla listened. Eren _was_ impressed how the skeletal structure withstood the harsh, rainy week before the guys finally came. There was work to be done—set up a flower garden, decide if she wanted to add in a bar or not and paint the fence black. Also, decide if she wanted to buy that giant inflatable pool.

Eren didn't hate it. He liked it; it distracted him. But Carla had pestered him like an annoying fly searching aimlessly for food with questions. Some about college. A lot about Mikasa and Armin. It was the summer vacation before real life kicked in, and she was curious why the two of them weren't around. Why they hadn't offered to help out. Eren always found ways to deflect. He was good at that. And Titan taking her massive shits on the fake grass, digging up new holes, basically being allowed to be a puppy for the first time in what must've been forever for her, was enough to distract his mom from his lack of answers.

"Three-thirty. I remember," Eren said more to himself than them. His eyes lingered on his parents, their eyes a blend of nostalgia and happiness and a slight hint of melancholy. He saluted off the top of his head. "Bye, guys."

Carla finally grinned, mug still hovering by her mouth. "Bye, honey. I love you! Have a great day! Call me if anything!"

Eren rolled his eyes, shutting the door behind him. He loved his mom, but, damn, the woman could be so embarrassing.

Halfway through his driveway, Eren felt the pull to look behind him. Titan was at the window, her head poking through the dark curtains, absolutely _miserable_. A hot knife nudged his heart. If he had his way, he wouldn't leave her. Eren wasn't sure how she'd handle being alone most of the day—he couldn't afford to give it more than a second of a thought. Carla flew in behind her, yanking on her pink-spiked collar.

Autumn leaves fell from ash trees, landing peacefully on the ground in dead, crinkled piles. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his black jeans, Eren avoided the houses with the sprinkler systems. The sidewalk wasn't safe from the water, so he stuck to the street. He'd learned the hard way when his brand new Chinos got a _nice_ soak in the seventh grade, back when he didn't listen to Mikasa. He still didn't listen to her, and now he'd never have to listen to her ever again.

Eren checked his Blackjack. He'd changed the tenth-grade field trip photo of Armin, Mikasa, and him to one of Titan, sleeping belly-up on the couch, the very first time she'd gotten the courage to jump on it. No calls. No texts. Eren sighed in relief, pocketing the device.

That relief was short-lived.

A car he recognized well pulled up beside him—didn't stop, though, the driver keeping their foot firmly on the brake, bringing the car to a turtle's pace. The driver's window lowered. Armin.

All those fantasies Eren conjured up in his mind crash-landed in an instant. _So much for things going smoothly today_. He was disappointed his dream hadn't lasted a full hour.

His former best friend pushed up his square glasses, flashing him a weak smile. "Hey, Eren," He said, but he didn't sound confident.

"Armin."

Armin was at a loss for a moment. Eren hopped over the dirt-encrusted crack that had been the cause of many bicycles upchucks and scrapped chins back in the day. He never believed in the step-on-a-crack-break-your-mother's-back bullshit as a kid, but Eren needed something to do. Keep himself moving. Otherwise, he _might_ do something very dumb. Like, punch the car.

"Do you, um, do you need a ride?" One arm hanging out the threshold, Armin pat the door. The Honda Civic was so old, left baking under the sun for far too long, the silver paint was beginning to peel. "My grandpa's lending me his car for the rest of the year. We could—"

"I'm taking the bus this year."

He could feel Armin's brows knitting together in the utmost confusion. "…But you always complained about never getting school on time with Jean," He pointed out. "Now that I have a car, we could work on something—like you wanted. We could probably get in early to the band room." He paused, his eyes burning holes into his profile. Eren couldn't stand to look at him. "You know you still have a spot, right?"

"I quit." Eren reminded him. And for good measure, he added, "And I heard you found someone to take Floch's place."

The pause in Armin's response gave it away. "And where'd you hear that?"

Eren wanted to cut him a sideways look. He clenched his jaw instead and said, "You can't tell me you didn't think Jean _wouldn't_ go around bragging? With how he does just about _everything_ else? It's like he makes it his personal goal in life to remind people that he's better than them."

Armin kept the car crawling, pensive. And Eren had to admit he was a little more than shocked that Armin Arlert didn't immediately rush to Jean Kirstein's defense.

When the two of them were young, this car used to be the coolest car ever. It always smelled like apple cinnamon, and it was clean, spacious, and drove _way better_ than his mother's tiny and cluttered Matiz. Back then, Grandpa Alert used to take them, and Mikasa, to the waterpark over the summer. His mother still had all of those pictures he took. The three of them used to have coordinated bathing suits.

Eren didn't realize he'd been clenching his hands so tightly until it started to burn a hole through his pockets. He tried to relax. He wouldn't be shocked if Armin decided to follow him to the stop, and Eren braced himself for that possibility. His two former best friends were overbearing like that. He didn't miss _that_ at all.

"Well… You know what they say," Armin said, "Two heads are better than one. Right?"

It ticked Eren off. More than his mother's light scolding earlier. "You know damn well I don't ever wanna work with Jean. Ever." Eren reminded, "Was that time in Hange's class not enough to get it through your head?"

"But he's good," Armin tried. Realizing a mistake, he retraced. Eren's jaw tightened. He'd definitely have a headache after this. "I mean, he's not as good as you, but—"

"I'm not doing it, Armin. You can forget about it."

Armin sighed. "Eren," He started, hesitant. "Don't you think you're being… a little…" The word lost to him. No. The word didn't leave. Armin was scared to say it.

Eren fumed, and he glanced up at the ink sky, the dark clouds ripping apart for morning dawn. "Just fucking _say it,_ Armin," He spit. "I don't have time for this."

"… Unfair?" Armin squeaked. "… Insensitive? No. Eren, you're acting incredibly fragile about this. I don't understand it. It's just a band."

Eren swallowed the bitter tickle climbing up his throat. He was so tired of hearing that shit. "If that's what you think, fine. I don't care to defend it—much less defend it to you."

"Oh, come on, Eren," Armin sighed tiredly, like dealing with a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Just come back and let's finish the song—all of us. I'll ask Jean to sit this one out. It shouldn't be a big deal."

"Oh." He could almost guffaw. "So, lemme get this straight. It's 'just a band,' yet you're begging _me_ to finish writing the song?" Eren shook his head, strands of hair smacking his eyes. They'd wanted a piece for the talent show this year. Neither Eren nor Floch wanted to participate in _that._ Not even Annie performed at school unless she got paid. "No. I told you I quit, and Jean's supposed to be my and Floch's replacement. Get _Jean_ to do it if you want it so bad." He finally spared Armin a glance. Just enough to flash his contempt. "Didn't you just say he's as good as me?"

"He is," Armin agreed, and _that_ was more like him. A pacifying little pipsqueak with barely a shred of a mind. "Jean is good. But he… lacks." His former best friend paused. "He's just not you, Eren."

 _Of course, he does. Eren_ rolled his eyes. That's exactly what he'd told them when they first suggested the idea of Jean taking Floch's place. _This is precisely what they get for not taking it seriously._

"They're my songs, Armin. You guys can't have them—not anymore."

"They're _our_ songs, Eren." Armin corrected, an underlying edge to his tone that Eren hadn't heard in years. Good. Maybe he would start thinking for himself instead of keeping up his peacemaker mold. "All of us put in our time and effort. You didn't do all the work."

"That's… funny," He said, but now he didn't think it was very amusing. Eren found none of this _funny_. "So, the music's 'ours,' but you're begging me to finish the song? The one _I_ started months ago? The same one Floch told you would work, but you guys told him no?"

Eren stopped, pivoting on his heel. Armin jerked the car to a stop, almost slamming his head on the wheel, trying to follow Eren's abrupt movement. His dull brown eyes were wide, a blend of shock and maybe a little of fear.

"You never took the band seriously. None of you did. You all thought it was fun and games, and, hey, I disagree, but if that's what you want, it's fine. I just don't want any part in the games," Armin's face slowly fell, slipping further down into annoyance. Still, Eren continued, "I always wanted to get us out of Bertolt's basement—not stay in it. Floch knew it, too. My music isn't meant for school talent shows, Armin. It's not meant to stay in this small town, with these small-minded people. It's meant for massive crowds."

His former best friend pulled his mouth into a hard, thin line. "This was absolutely pointless." He muttered, shaking his head, strands from his awful bowl cut swishing along his forehead.

Eren veered on his heel, continuing the remaining spaces towards the stop. "I know."

Armin would never understand. He should, considering the number of interests _he_ has. But Eren couldn't waste another precious breath explaining how much music and writing meant to him. It was exhausting. He said his peace months ago. Armin was the only one who couldn't let it go—still texting him, calling him, shooting him an IM him whenever Eren forgot to switch his status to invisible. None of which Eren returned. The kid had even dropped by his house a few times over the summer. Mikasa's texts had stopped the week they returned from spring break. Eren didn't know which one constricted his heart more—Armin's annoying persistence or Mikasa's complete and sudden absence.

Armin said, "At least I can tell Mikasa I tried," He shifted the gear stick. "Bye, Eren. See you around—I guess…"

Armin sped off into the breaking dawn, gasoline from his exhaust slamming Eren right in the face.

The good old fashioned 'it'll hurt Mikasa' card. That was always Armin's ace up his sleeve whenever the two of them got into an argument, a way to even them out. Once, it would've gotten to Eren. Now, he couldn't be bothered. Mikasa was with Jean fucking Kirstein through thick and thin now—the fuck did it matter to Eren? And she looked stupidly happy with him. She spent all of her time ignoring his existence now. Maybe it was payback for all the years he spent ignoring her. Or something else.

Still, it stung. The familiarity of all of it. How old habits really did die hard. How life had a way of rounding back like a wrecking ball and slamming him down when Eren least expected it. What did he do to deserve this karma?

Eren tried not to dwell on it. The yellow school bus rattled down the street like a mobile tin can. He gave Daz a head nod, a fellow senior with iPod earphones in, blasting last year's Soulja Boy album. Eren didn't recognize the small girl waiting along with them, leaning against the vine wrapped brick wall. _She's so damn tiny—couldn't be more than five feet tall!_ She looked mad; Poison Ivy personified and ready to wreak havoc with the vines at her back and dirt under their feet.

Eren racked his brain for a name to the face—he'd always been good at that—but he'd never seen her around before. She looked like a girl from Pieck's private school, a sleek ponytail and natural makeup and those manicured nails drumming her bicep. She didn't even spare a glance at him.

Hannes bus pulled up to a stop before Eren could continue to assess her silently—if she knew what he was doing, she never gave it away. The bus halted with a loud whimper, and the doors peeled open with an equally loud squeal.

"Mornin' kids!" Hannes drawled, holding up a hand. "Ready for another year?"

"Hey," Eren greeted, jutting his chin at Hannes' surprisingly clean shirt. "Looking sober today, Hannes."

The older man's lip curled, the wrinkles on his face giving way to his age—around the same as Grisha. They were great friends; dad welcomes Hannes over whenever his parents threw parties. "Shut up, Eren. Pain in the ass," He muttered.

Eren grinned; his mood lightened just the slightest. He padded up the three steps and stalked down the aisle to his usual row in the middle. Daz sped past him, throwing himself in the back. Eren stopped taking the bus freshman year, but it looks like nothing had changed. Daz usually took a twenty-minute nap before the next stop. Well, nothing had changed except for the new girl.

"Hi, honey," Hannes said, conciliatory. "You new here?"

"Uh." She looked around the empty bus, one hand clutching tight to her messenger bag. She seemed nervous, that stern expression from a minute ago washed away. "Yeah."

"Well," Hannes pushed the lever for the door, the sound echoing, nowhere for her to go but to stay. "Got six stops before we get to school. Grab a seat."

She hesitated. The bus purred beneath their feet, reading to go. Hannes was acting overly friendly to her, waiting patiently for her to get a seat. She glanced at Eren briefly. He thought for one split second that she'd sit by him, but then the girl looked away quickly. Finally, she glided to the row directly behind Hannes.

"Uh," Eren spoke up. He wasn't sure what compelled him to say something. That panicked look in her eye tugged a string inside him. He just couldn't let her suffer. He'd never seen her before, so she mustn't know how things work on the bus. "I wouldn't sit there if I were you."

Her forehead and wary eyes cast him a look above the seat. "Why not?"

"Because that's Connie and Sasha's seat." He said simply.

"Huh." She said airily. The bus jerked forward, her ponytail swishing violently. "I don't see their names on it."

Eren slid his thin backpack off his shoulders, holding it to his chest. He only had a binder and his tattered composition notebook—full of all his writing and music notes. "Well, it's where they sit," Eren explained. "They like to bother Hannes. It's a tradition."

"Hah!" Hannes barked. "Not as much as you, kid!"

Eren couldn't argue that.

"A pretty girl like you can sit right by me!" Daz perked up from the back. He pat the long, empty bench by his side. "Next stop. Whaddaya say?"

Her eyes narrowed.

Eren rolled his eyes. " _Daz_."

"Hey!" Hannes yelled, glaring into the rearview mirror above him. "Let's _not_ , alright? I'm not up to getting a lawsuit 'cause you harassed some poor girl on my bus." He grumbled, glancing back at the road ahead of them, then back up. "Do you even have any idea who this girl's sister is?"

Eren didn't miss the embarrassment crossing her big, doe eyes.

"I—I didn't mean anything by it, Hannes!" Daz tried to sway. "I was just joking!"

"Ya, well, joke or not, just keep your comments to yourself, woulda ya, Daz?"

She tossed her platinum hair over her shoulder, that sliver of hesitation gone. She yelled, "No, thanks!" and turned around.

Eren twisted in his seat, back flush to the window. He laid his legs across the seat. He made sure to keep his head from leaning on the window. He never understood why people in movies did that. It's like being a human salt shaker. Scriptwriters never rode a bus in their life.

Strips of orange and red bled across the horizon. Eren wasn't poor—far from it, but not exactly rich either—but he liked to pass by the wealthier side of town. Where Jean lived, of course. There was no escaping that horse-faced asshole whatsoever. Those cozy houses were always a sight to behold in the early dawn around Christmas. They always threw those competitions with the lights.

A few early birds drifted out of their homes, toddlers in hand, getting them situated in their fancy Mercedes's Benz's and BMW's series. _First day of school for the little ones too,_ Eren thought.

By now, Eren usually wrote in his notebook. There was something insanely relaxing about watching the world wake up. He couldn't enjoy a view like this in Jean's sports car. Not with Armin so eager to talk to him and Mikasa casting those soft, loving looks from the passenger seat that made Eren want to barf on Jean's weatherproof mat.

He just couldn't find the words to write. Not even during those late nights on the wicker chairs with Titan by his feet, while Eren mindlessly strummed his Fender, staring up at the vast sky. He wondered how a sky could be so big in a world so small. Instead of alleviating the block cemented in his mind, it only made him more annoyed. Eren couldn't figure out when the block locked in place, and he wasn't sure how to break it. It wouldn't budge no matter how many times he kicked. It bothered him. Who was he if he wasn't creating? Could he consider himself an artist if he wasn't producing constantly?

Three stops later, Connie Springer and Sasha Blouse clambered up the steps, chanting, "Senior year, senior year!" like the total school band geeks they were.

Some of their peers clapped weakly.

" _Ah_!" Hannes exclaimed, his hands flying to cover his ears. After four long years, the guy should be used to their holly-jolly attitudes by now. "Stop! You're gonna break my eardrums! It's too early in the morning for this shit!" He waved them off frantically. "Hurry up and sit your asses down!"

Connie stopped at his usual row; brow raised high. He leaned forward. "Hey. Who're you?" When she didn't answer, Connie reached forward. "Hey. Hey? Wake up!"

Sasha squeezed his shoulder, minding the trombone case strapped across his back. "Let her sleep, Connie. We'll just—" She just a thumb across her shoulder, at the row right across the aisle. "—sit here for today. No big deal."

"Oh! No, no! Don't worry!" The girl shot to her feet, popping her iPod earphones out, face flushed. She wiped the drool trailing out of the corner of her mouth fast enough. Eren almost smiled. "I'll sit somewhere else. Sorry!"

Sasha's brows knitted. "You sure? We really don't mind—"

"Uh," Connie interrupted. " _I_ mind." Sasha's face fell as he shoved past the new girl and made himself at home. "What, Sasha? I'm not sorry I like my seat. We've been here for years. We have a right to it!" Connie gesticulated to Hannes. "And, besides, Hannes and I have _a lot_ of catching up to do!"

Eren could _feel_ the older man's eyes rolling to the ceiling from here. "Ugh. Kill me now."

The new girl shrugged away from Sasha's grasp. "It's fine." She reassured him. "I'll…" She glanced at all the available seats, which had narrowed down considerably over the final three stops and would only continue to thin out all the way to school. The only empty row was directly in front of Eren.

She caught eyes with him again and looked away. "Sit there." She pointed vaguely in his general direction.

Sasha didn't know she hadn't meant him, but she still looked to Eren. Hesitant. And also a hint of something else—regret. He couldn't be too mad at Sasha. She was the nicest one in the group. She used to share her food with him. She was one of the only other mixed kids in the school—her father from northern India—gravity pulled them together. But if shit ever hit the fan, Sasha would drop him like a rock and side with Jean or Connie. Which is precisely what she'd done.

Eren sighed, sinking into his bench. _What a way to start the fucking year._

"Okay," Sasha said softly, lowering herself into her seat. "Okay, If you say so. Thanks."

She clutched the strap of her messenger bag, striding down the aisle. Hannes didn't wait for her to sit this time, plowing forward so hard, she had to catch a seat and hang on for a moment. She ignored the curious looks from students dotted around her.

After a small eternity, she reached him, indicating to the row in front of him with a dainty finger. "Who sits here?"

"Mina and her boyfriend," Eren answered. "They're the next stop."

Frustration marred her face. It almost made Eren grin. He didn't know what it was about this girl that just got him laughing instantly.

She looked over his shoulder. "What about right behind you? It's empty."

"Samuel's sleeping." As if in confirmation, he let a snore rip straight from his bowels.

She hung her head in deafest. "Oh, well," She said, raising her head with a grin. "Guess I'll just have to sit with you, Emo Boy."

Eren almost blanched. He didn't know which one to pop a comeback for first. His brain settled on a highly original, "What?"

"You heard me, Eren!" She tossed his legs down, shoving him aside. "Move over! Gimme some space! I don't take up much!"

Eren clutched his bag tighter and scooted over. She was right that she didn't need much space. She was small, and petite, just a hint curvy in all the right places, plopping right beside him effortlessly. And she smelled _so good_ , cotton candy bursting all around him, undercutting the dirty sock smell that always clung in the air of the bus.

He stretched his legs under the seat in front of him with a frown. He missed his space already.

She slid her plain black messenger bag to her lap, opening the flat, stuffing her baby blue iPod back inside.

Eren glared at her slender yet pointed profile. "How would you know that I'm not saving the seat for someone?"

She blinked, taking him in equal measure with those big, blue eyes of hers. They weren't ice blue like Annie's. Annie Leonhart's eyes were sturdy, the toughest diamond whenever he pissed her off—which happened to be a lot. It's just who he was. But, no. Hers were a deeper blue. Blueberries. And now that the sun stationed itself over the horizon, her hair wasn't platinum—it was golden, like warm summer rays.

"Because you wouldn't have moved over." She said easily.

Eren rubbed his suddenly heated neck. He looked away. _Fuck. She got me there._ She seemed to relish in his speechlessness, a ghost of a smirk crossing her lips before she turned away.

He wasn't really used to talking to girls that weren't Mikasa or Sasha. Or Annie. It was more comfortable with them. They'd always been there since the beginning of time. But this girl was different. She was new. Eren wasn't sure what to do, what to say, how to say it. If he'd say anything right...

She was sitting there by his side, inspecting her orange nails. Were they orange, or was that the sun hitting them?

"What's your name?"

"Historia."

Eren nodded. A silence fell over them—the kind of silence that was louder than the ten other conversations ringing around them. Eren wasn't interested in those. He already knew what they'd be about. Right now, he only wanted to hear the conversation from the person sitting next to him. She was automatically more interesting than anyone he'd grown up with.

Eren swallowed, searching for something to say, every idea crossed out. He wasn't sure why he couldn't just let it go. He should leave her alone. "You're new."

He should sew his mouth shut. Better yet, dig up his grave already. Annie used to mercilessly tease him years ago about how he couldn't talk to girls. And she was right. His dumb mouth always got him into trouble.

It was to his total surprise that Historia's lip quirked. She peered up at him in amusement. "Totally wonder what gave it away." She rifled through the contents of her bag—some binders and notebooks, nothing heavy duty—and eventually pulled out a hardcover book. A pretty thick one, too—more than five hundred pages. Just enough pages to ignore everyone around her for hours.

 _Dammit_. Eren was bummed.

Mina Carolina minced her way up the aisle at the next stop. She took her usual seat in front of him. Alone. Her boyfriend— _or,_ Eren guessed, _ex-boyfriend now_ —took the empty seat across from Connie and Sasha, the two of them continuing to chat animatedly with Hannes and a few juniors around them.

 _Interesting_.

Not really.

This was all so _boring._ Watching paint dry would be infinitely better than sitting in this stuffy bus with two more stops to go. _I really should've taken dad's truck_ , Eren grumbled. He could've worked something out with the main office.

The next person caught Eren off-guard. Floch Forster stomped in with his usual steel-toed combat boots. He glared at Eren in greeting, a glare that'd send anyone else running for the hills. He'd gotten an awful bowl cut, too, his bleached blonde hair gone, replaced by his natural ginger color. He still looked a hundred times better than Armin with that cut, though. On Floch, it looked menacing.

 _Guess he's back from suspension_. Eren tipped his head back. As _if_ he needed more drama this year. Why couldn't he just get out of here already?

"Are you one of the popular kids or something?"

Hearing Historia's voice perked him up. And also annoyed him. Eren didn't think she'd been watching the exchange, considering how keen she'd been on ignoring him. "… Didn't you just call me an Emo Boy a few minutes ago?"

" _Sorry_ ," She didn't sound very sorry, bypassing his hoodie and pulling on his Atreyu band shirt. "You prefer metalhead or something?"

Eren rolled his eyes. "I don't care. Stereotypes should die."

She poked at his industrial piercing, an arrow pointing north. How he'd like to think of it, at least. Eren always wanted a piercing, but after seeing how his friends had reacted to Annie's septum with wary looks and comments… He held off. Until he didn't have to anymore. It was sort of liberating and sad all at once, being in the tattoo parlor on his own getting it done.

Historia circled him back to the present, dropping her hand. "So? Are you?"

"I wouldn't say so."

She dropped her hand, her naturally black lashes fluttering. "You know you can still be popular, right? Popular emo kids are a thing."

He wanted to laugh. He still wasn't sure why. "It's not like that." The bus jerked forward roughly, taking off to the very last stop before Hannes hauled ass towards the school. Historia had to slap a hand on Mina's seat just to keep her head from knocking into it. "It's a small school. Most of us grew up together."

Historia hummed in understanding. "Which means no secrets and lots of drama, I'm sure."

"Definitely."

Historia winced. "Awesome." She muttered, fingering her long side part. It wasn't home cut and frayed like Annie's, definitely professionally and recently done. Historia leaned in closer and whispered, "So. What's the beef between you and the Neo-Nazi who walked in?"

Eren smirked, leaned his head back. The dingy ceiling was still dirty. Specks of barbecue sauce from four years ago up there from that time Daz's packet exploded. That was when Hannes gave birth to the no eating rule. "It's a long story. And petty."

She scooted closer, almost pressed against his side completely. "Good! I love petty stories."

Eren folded his arms, quiet and resilient as the bus vibrated over the incomplete backstreet gravel. Hannes always said it was faster than taking the highway, and he'd be right. By now, it was probably about the same as New York traffic. His father would know. Eren hadn't been to New York himself, though. _Maybe one day. Soon._ He had skyscraper dreams.

"Okay. Fine." Historia held up her palms, flipping through the pages in the book loudly. "Don't tell me. That's cool."

They fell into silence again, this one initiated by him. It wasn't that Eren didn't want to tell her. _What's the point when she'll find out?_ This school didn't know how to keep a secret. This school wouldn't know how to keep a secret even if they knew a bomb was hidden in the basement—which had actually been speculation for years.

The sun was bright and full in the blue sky; the clouds painted pure white. Eren was bored staring out the window. He wished he could write. The conversations around them were mostly about summer vacation. Some of them had left Shiganshina, vacationing in the beach city of Orvud, some staying near Trost, or cliff diving in Mitras' mountains on the other side of the country. Eren was already exhausted from looking around and listening.

His eyes landed back on Historia. Her lips were pursed. She was wiggling her Poodle bookmark like a pencil between her fingers. Eren squinted down at the page, wondering what about it she didn't understand. He caught sight of a familiar name in a piece of dialogue and almost couldn't believe it.

Eren reached over, tipping the book cover up with a finger. Yep. Just like he thought. That awful series by Stephanie Meyer Mikasa wouldn't shut the fuck up about.

"Before you ask," Historia enunciated before he could open his mouth. "I'm the type of person who can't leave things unfinished." Historia tucked in the bookmark, closing the brand new copy of _Breaking Dawn_ by Stephanie Meyer. "So. If I'm gonna read the first three books, however fucking boring they were, I gotta read the final one—even if I can't stand most of the characters and the plot sucks."

 _That's… admirable_ , he guessed. "I knew a girl who was obsessed with it." Eren stopped. "Actually… She probably still is. She really wanted me to see the movie with her."

"I don't think you should go," Historia advised. "It's gonna be a huge waste of time. I," She placed a mocking hand on her heart. "on the other hand, have sisterly duties. My sister really loves the series, so, poor me, I have to go see it with her when it comes out." She sighed. "Just know that I'm only going to see those glorious five minutes of Taylor Lautner and his wig."

His head lolled to the side, out the dirty window again. The red, white, and gold striped flag of Shingeki Senior High waved in the distance, right above the soaring steppe eagle's Paradis flag. "Doesn't matter for me now."

"Ooh. I know that broody look," Historia said knowingly. She poked his arm. "She's an ex-girlfriend, huh?"

Eren shook his head softly. "No. We were just friends for a really long time." He looped his arms through the straps of his backpack, careful not to smack Historia, and said, "She's with someone else."

"So you're pining after her," Historia surmised, grinning so broadly, her dimples flared. "That's cute, Eren."

His cheeks _blazed._ Eren scratched the back of his head. "I'm not… _pining_ after her," Eren whispered. "That makes me sound desperate."

Historia's face almost cracked and broke into a laugh. "Okay, okay, tough guy! Don't show your sensitivity. That's totally fine." She followed his lead, tucking her book back into her bag, and secured the strap over her chest. "I just wanted to say that I could totally help you win her over. A little jealousy ends up going a long way."

"No, thanks," Eren denied hotly. Mikasa Ackerman was not anywhere on his to-do list for senior year. "I'm fine. I can—"

"—handle it? Yeah. It seems like you're doing a marvelous job there." Historia bat her eyes. It'd be hypnotizing if he wasn't so flustered and overall annoyed at the direction of this conversation. "You really don't think I could help?"

The bus pulled up to the student drop-off, parking behind the other two buses already hugging the curb. "It's just better to let her be. She doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Wow," Historia blinked. "What'd you do?"

" _I_ didn't do anything."

Historia studied him, the stiffness in which he'd said it. A small smile tugged the corners of her glossed lips. "You'll never know until you try, Eren."

Their peers got to their feet. Eren did _not_ miss the look Sasha threw over her shoulder, right at them. Maybe worried for Historia's safety around him. He didn't care to speculate what the look was fore. She disappeared out the door, Connie right on her tail. They'd always been a packaged deal, eager to squeeze Jean into their wrapping.

Eren was so not ready for this year.

"You know your homeroom?"

Historia nodded, standing up with him, waiting. "Yep! This girl named Hitch gave me a tour over the summer. It's, uh—" She dug her schedule out of her ripped shorts, her thin, silver bangles bouncing off the sunlight. She squinted at the paper. "—some Zacharias guy? College Ready math? She told me it should be in C-Wing?"

He felt a twinge of disappointment but recovered. "If you're horrible at math, bribe him with food," Eren offered. "He'll change your grades without asking."

Historia stared up at him, a pretty blend of shock and elation. She grinned. "So that saying's true."

"What?"

"That the way to a person's heart—usually guys—is through the stomach."

Daz let them go first, lingering in the row behind him, slapping Samuel awake with a kick right in the ass. Historia shook her head, taking his invitation and flying down the empty aisle.

Eren followed her. "Beats me. I just heard it works on him."

"I'll keep it in mind. Thank you!"

The sun blazed above, cooking his attitude raw, blackening his insides. He was already starting to sweat under his hoodie. He wouldn't take it off, though.

Bertolt Hoover, the tallest guy in the school and center position on the Shingeki basketball team, leaned on the flag pole parallel to the new wing—a third story, modern structure that did not blend well with the rest of the school. It was fresh, mainly for the budding freshman class. Every year, the town got a steady stream of new people. Eren wasn't sure how many of them stayed and didn't care. He didn't understand why they would.

Armin and Marco Bolt huddled around Bertolt, probably discussing another _Dungeons and Dragons_ quest they had going on. Or… Were they still into _RuneScape_? Eren didn't know. He wasn't into video games. They'd tried convincing him a couple of times to play, but Eren could never get a hold of the mechanics. He didn't have the brain or the patience for it. Connie came up behind them, tackling Armin and Marco from behind with arms thrown around both their frail shoulders. All of them his former bandmates.

He knew which direction he wasn't going in.

Eren raked a hand through his hair, sweat already dotting on his neck. He still had about fifteen minutes to kill before the first warning bell rang for homeroom. It wasn't a big deal. He could even pass by the cafeteria for free breakfast.

His eyes flit throughout the courtyard, bouncing from head to head, from hair of the blackest night to an ash wack job, searching for a familiar head of blonde hair. If Annie weren't alone, she'd be right by a patch of sandy hair that belonged to her girlfriend, Hitch Dreyse. Also captain of the cheerleading team. They used to be disgustingly attached at the hip. Annie even had an idea to write a song about her. Eventually.

He didn't spot them and frowned. His gaze made its way back to Historia, pin-straight by his side, chewing on her bottom lip. She clasped the strap of her bag tightly, her schedule crushed under her palm.

"You okay, Historia?"

She bristled, the question startling her. The two of them moved to the side. Daz and Samuel stumbled out, no doubt heading to the bleachers to smoke a pound before class.

Historia blew a raspberry, strands of her bangs floating. "Not really," She confessed, tugging on her ponytail. She brought it to her shoulder, left it there, and heaved a sigh. "It… It just hit me that I don't know anyone except for Hitch. And it looks like she isn't around here. It's scary. Being alone in a sea of people."

"You know me."

She sized him up as if really seeing Eren for the first time. She didn't smile, not exactly, but Historia looked a little relieved. "Yeah. That's true."

One of the skater kids whizzed by, bringing the heated air with him. Historia stepped back, though he'd kept a distance from them. The guy kicked his longboard into his arms effortlessly. Eren used to longboard and bicycle ride but gave it up years ago when Armin and Mikasa stopped doing it.

Resolutely, Historia planted one foot in front of the other. "I'll, um, see you around?" She was stepping away from him. To the left.

Eren furrowed his brow. He wouldn't say anything, stuffing his hands in his pockets casually. He watched her turn away and go. Usually, he'd never try so hard to speak to a total stranger. But that look in Historia's eyes when she came into the bus flashed through his mind.

_Fuck._

He made a few steps forward, catching up to her in no time. "Historia?" Eren called.

She turned around, blinking at his proximity. "… Yeah?"

Eren splayed his fingers on her head, turning it to where C-Wing sat parallel to B and D-Wing. "Zacharias is _that_ way," He turned her head to back to where she'd originally been going. "You're going towards the freshman wing."

Historia flushed comically red. She shrunk even smaller than she already was. The top of her head barely touched the top of his shoulder. "R-right," She spluttered, running her fingers through her hair. "Fuck. And Hitch even told me this, too."

Eren cracked his neck, stuffing his hand back in his pocket. "C'mon," He made a motion with his arm, like flapping a wing. "I'll take you."

"But," She started, "don't you—" Her protest fell away when Eren left her in the dust. Hey! Hey, wait up, jerk! Little legs over here!"

Eren slowed down. She had to do this little half-job to catch up to him. "Sorry…"

She sneered up at him, fixing her hair. "No, you're not."

Eren grinned when she pointedly looked away. Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

Fuck that. This year was going to suck.

By the time lunch rolled through, Eren felt like bursting through these red doors and running home to beg Ma to be homeschooled. But he wasn't a coward. Eren would stick it out to the very bitter end. This was life or death, a fight for survival, and only the fittest survived.

Hands shoved in his sweater, Eren trained his eyes on the dirt-caked linoleum, compressing into the swell of the B-Block crowd heading to the cafeteria. It wasn't his first choice of a destination, but options were limited—so, whatever. He avoided the glances in his direction as he stormed out of the main office.

After confirming her files and double-checking the school's computer system, Ilse Langnar, the guidance counselor for his last name grouping, told him she couldn't fix anything. His schedule was as it should be. Honors and his two electives—Italian II for non-speakers and Home Economics were as he selected last year. The only time she could make corrections were in cases where they mistakenly placed him in Advanced Placement or general courses.

So this meant stuck with Floch Forster for second period College Ready Math. And Sasha Blouse for third period Home Economics. Ms. Langnar said he should consider himself grateful. He was one of 'the luck ones' who didn't need any corrections.

He tried to veer to the bright side. Eren was _sort of_ lucky. Armin and Mikasa were AP students. They'd already done their two years of languages. Their electives ranged from Advanced Computers and Web Design to Choir and Art History. There was no chance he'd run into them. Maybe glimpses of them during the day, at most. So far, nothing.

He could handle that. In fact, Eren welcomed it.

He paused by the wall of bulletin boards by the cafeteria. Club flyers stapled and taped. The mathletes were still looking for new members. _What,_ Jean _isn't enough to get them a trophy and new jackets?_ Eren nearly scoffed. A new slogan for the D.A.R.E. program that took up an entire board. An ACT/SAT reminder with testing dates for juniors and seniors. He took those last year, got above average scores. Just enough for a decent school to accept him.

A large, handcrafted calendar marked the dates for all the sports events. The first football game was this Friday.

Absolutely nothing he cared about.

Amid his irritation, his thoughts wandered to Historia. His new friend, he guessed. _How's she holding up?_ Was she getting lost? Eren hoped not. And if she was, were people being nice to her? Helping her?

They didn't have classes together, but they did share most of the same teachers. Historia's schedule consisted of two AP classes, Honors College Ready Math, a Ceramics elective, Spanish II for non-speakers, and office aide. Now he felt the full force of disappointment. It would've been nice having someone to talk to in classes. Most people ostracized him. He wanted to see her again, but the first day of school chaos wouldn't allow him a nice and simple thing like that.

Like a sore thumb, _she_ stuck out. Well, more like her father's Fender Affinity strapped across her back stood tall, taller than her, begging to be plucked out of the crowd. She rarely ever went anywhere in school without it.

" _Annie_!" Eren roared above the crowd, unable to contain how happy he was to see a familiar face that didn't despise him.

Annie was short, maybe a few inches shorter than Historia, so Eren had to squint just to spot the birdie she sent him over her shoulder in response to his call.

The crowd ate her up shortly after. Some of the students around him looked at him curiously, wondering what he'd done to piss her off. Only their former friends knew Annie was always like that with him. He did worry. Sometimes.

He considered it nothing short of a miracle that Annie answered his texts over the summer. She was always so busy, so for her to find some time for him… meant a lot. He went to all her gigs over the summer when he wasn't burrowing himself up in his room. Now that school was on, she probably wouldn't be able to perform—club rules, child labor laws, though she was close to eighteen.

He really needed to stop hanging out with his mom.

Eren decided to grin, taking it as a sign that they were still cool, and decided to enter into the cafeteria madness.

Wedged in between the middle of nowhere, and a few miles away from Trost, Shingeki Senior High accommodated a little less than two thousand kids. Not the worst. Anything over three thousand seemed excessive, like a few public schools in Trost, so Eren guessed Shingeki had a decent number. The classrooms were less than twenty-five kids. Except for the freshman class. They were always the larger class-always coming in droves. Shingeki Senior High was ranked highest in the county. But by the middle of sophomore year, half of them would drop, choose night school, or get their GEDs later in life. Or never come back into education ever again. Just facts of life.

The stench of sloppy joes made his stomach queasy. Eren circled the crowd waiting to grab a tray. He plucked a banana from the fruit section and a small carton of chocolate milk. Some of the kids shot him glares, but Eren bolted for the cashier. He didn't care.

He tried not to pay attention. Two students in the line across from him were getting rowdy, arguing with the cashier. They looked like sophomore guys, kind of muscular—diamond studs in one ear. Eren's transaction took all of a few seconds, punching in his student ID and handing over the exact cash amount. The employee answered all their question as calmly as possible. Still, her words were starting to slur together, giving way to her accent.

"For fuck's sakes," Eren announced, efficiently ripping their attention away from the red-faced elderly woman. She was on the verge of losing her patience. "It's not her pay her and take your problems to the office."

The dude puffed up his chest. "Mind your business, man." The dude puffed up his chest.

Eren rolled his eyes. "Can't exactly mind my business when you're making it everyone's business." He flicked a hand, gesticulating at all the agitated students around them. "You're holding up the line."

Eren was already ducking out before they could formulate a response, walking a little stupidly in the direction he usually went. His friends had a table towards the back of the long, oval room. Armin was already there, that HP laptop he always carried with him propped open, his fingers crunching in codes. Marco was right next to him, his notebook open. He was scribbling along to whatever Armin was sharing with him.

For Christmas five years ago, Grandpa Arlert bought him a book on web design and coding. They didn't have a lot of money, but it didn't bother Armin. He loved reading. That web design book was all he could talk about in middle school. It was a bit of a shock that Armin could take his mind away from it and wanted to form a band with Eren freshman year, playing the keyboard. But, honestly, Eren didn't think Armin's brain could ever truly shut off. Even in Bertolt's basement, he'd have his laptop out, along with his books. He tried teaching Eren a few times, but Eren had always been too agitated, and he didn't have the capacity for it. Stringing numbers and letters and remembering templates and formats sounded way too mathematical. Eren was always more of a practical person, with just a hint of creativity.

 _Now Armin's found someone else to bother_ , Eren thought. It was only a matter of time. Marco had a lot more in common with Armin than Eren ever did. Lately, he'd been wondering how the two of them had been friends for so long. They were just so different. Eren couldn't make sense of it.

Before the two of them could catch Eren's aching stare, standing in the middle of the room like a stupid fool, he zipped off, shoving open the door leading to the bleachers, the football field, the senior parking lot.

It was still _hot_ , the noon sun boiling his scalp. His hair was probably frying. Summer would keep a tight grip until the first week of September when it'd finally give way to fall. Still, Eren refused to take off his hoodie. He wasn't embarrassed about his body or shit like that. Classrooms were always Alaska fucking cold—he'd never been there either, just watched a few documentaries whenever his old man was home—and it was so fucking annoying to be pulling it off and slipping it back on throughout the day. So Eren rolled up his sleeves, folding them to his elbows, and zigzagged through the red picnic benches, carefully tearing open his carton of milk and brought it to his lips.

It was a mistake to come out here.

Jean and Mikasa were strolling through the hallway, heading to the cafeteria.

He nearly crushed the carton.

Jean's hair was so stupid. The color of gold shit and he never knew how to wear it, always fighting between leaving it flat or slicking it back. Today it was back. Mikasa said she didn't have a preference as long as he kept it that length; not too long, not too short. Not that Eren ever asked what she liked. And his clothes were stupid too, polished and dry cleaned. Always smelling fresh off a runway.

And Mikasa… _God_. She was just a vision in black. As always. Black hair, black clothes, black lips. She twirled a lock of her long hair between her finger, quietly smiling at whatever dumb thing Jean told her. Some joke that wouldn't land right. Jean Kirstein wasn't a funny guy, though his ridiculous horse face was. She should be laughing at that, if nothing at all. She used to, back in the seventh grade when Jean first moved here. Mikasa never outright laughed in his face, but she definitely did inside that fucked up head of hers.

How can she laugh like everything's fine? It was like Spring Break never happened. Like she wasn't a mess about the future. Like she wasn't torn up inside beneath all that black lace and fishnets.

Eren wanted to double back puke into the garbage can. Loudly. So she could hear. Maybe she'd finally acknowledge him after all this time. Honestly… Eren didn't see a reason for them to speak ever again. Not after what she did to him.

He grit his teeth. He forced some of the lukewarm milk down this throat and pivoted, hauling ass to the bleachers. He couldn't watch this shitshow for a second longer.

He nearly squashed the banana to death before he could even take a bite. Eren peeled it back slowly. He wished he could forget. He wanted to forget. After four and a half months of radio silence, he figured Mikasa's vicious hold over him had lifted. He hadn't thought about her at all during the summer. Or, Eren made himself believe that. Mikasa's presence was everywhere in his home, just like Armin's. In the photographs lining their hallway, littered on their tables in the living room. In the presents her parents had given his. In the artworks she used to doodle in class whenever she was bored. Eren still had those tucked deep in his drawer.

He couldn't believe just the sight of her smashed all the peace he'd acquired over the summer. Maybe it wasn't her as much as it was Jean's presence. And how could Historia help him? He couldn't believe he was even considering such an idea. If she knew the whole story, she'd know there was nothing that could be done. Hell, she might even look at him differently.

It was his own fault he'd driven Mikasa further into Jean's arms.

A few other students were dotted on the bleachers. Still, Annie claimed the top mot row for herself; Fender Affinity propped against the railing. She not-so-quietly munched on her sandwich, composition book open.

He wanted to hug her, which was stupid because Annie would more than likely shove him away. She wasn't one for physical affection. Eren thought better about it and spit out, "Don't tell me Hitch made that for you."

Annie didn't bother looking up, already knowing since the hallway that he would follow her here. She wrote in her notebook with a purple pen. "Get over it already, Eren."

"That Frosted Flakes and cheese sandwich was disgusting, Annie, I'm not sorry," He finished off the milk, setting it by her side. The three of them shared lunch last year, Hitch always bringing a couple of extra sandwiches to share, though Eren never accepted them after the first time.

He looked down at her. "Your girl can't cook. Can't even make a decent sandwich," Eren folded his arms, leaning against the railing. It scorched, and he recoiled. Annie didn't see any of it, saving him some embarrassment. "Don't be mad about the facts."

Annie spared him a look from under her deep side part. Over the summer, Annie had added a bold brown to the bottom half of her hair. She'd also sectioned off a piece and dipped it a vibrant shade of pink. Like Avril Lavigne's current style. It was super cool.

"It's a good thing I'm not dating her because of her cooking skills."

"Clearly, 'cause she's not." Eren dumped himself in the row below her. The aluminum was warm, like a heated blanket. He turned halfway, propping a leg close to him. "So, what's today's concoction? Sounds… especially crunchy."

Annie pulled it back, examining it closely with squinted eyes. Eren's eyes bugged. _She doesn't even know! How does she trust Hitch like that?!_

"… Tastes like Doritos and PB&J," Annie concluded, snatching another bite. She pointed to the aluminum foil resting on her side, the sun gleaming off one of her rings. "Want the other piece?"

A full-body shudder racked through him. "No, thanks. I'd like to live."

"It's not poisonous, asshole."

"You clearly have a stomach of steel. Some of us aren't so fortunate," Eren slipped his backpack off, using it as a pillow. He laid flat on the aluminum bench, opposite the sun, chomped on his banana. After seeing Jean and Mikasa, he wasn't so hungry anymore. He'd forgone breakfast to hang out a little bit with Historia. But he needed to eat. If not, he'd be a ticking time bomb. There were still three hours of school left and four classes to go. He couldn't afford to explode on anyone.

He was enough of a pariah.

"So," Eren said, wanting to kill the silence. They hadn't had much time to talk between her gigs. "What's up?"

Annie paused, stunned by the sudden question. Eren winced, realizing he made a mistake. Another thing they both had in common was forgoing small talk.

"The sky, moron—what else?"

"Damn," He grumbled. "You don't have to be so hostile, Annie." Eren shook his head. "School's almost done for the day. Be happy."

Her ultra-thin brow raised. "I never knew you to be such an optimist, Eren."

He shrugged. "I have my moments." He said between slow chews.

A silence dragged between them. Despite the heat, it was nice out. Like every day had been during the summer. Which Eren was sure his friends took full advantage of while he was secluding himself at home.

Annie sighed loudly. Annoyed. She unzipped her bag, pencils, and pens being rustled around. "All right," She said. "What is it?"

He stopped mid-chew, turning to her. He studied her long, solemn face, that strong jaw, and her naturally hooded eyes. She always seemed perpetually annoyed, just like Porco Galliard. He knew they were cousins, or something to that extent.

"What?"

"I know something's bothering you. You're not a subtle person."

He pushed some of his hair away from his damp forehead. His hair naturally parted at the middle, but sometimes it swept to the side when he messed with it too much. "I saw Jean and Mikasa."

Annie Leonhart was a lot like him. Very stubborn, utterly bored of this small town nonsense, and very determined. Mikasa said it was because they shared the same Zodiac sign, but Eren wanted to believe it drove deeper than that. Annie had a selective taste in music and an equally particular taste in friends. She had no qualms cutting people off in the blink of an eye and never looking back. She could act like they never meant anything. She didn't have a problem walking the world alone, a lone wolf in a crowd of sheep. And that's exactly how she'd parted from them over a year ago. Well, not him. Actually, her departure was one of the many reasons he found the strength to leave.

All their friends were butt hurt when Annie started dating Hitch Dreyse. It wasn't because Annie was into girls or that Hitch liked all genders. No. It was because Annie never told any of them. She hadn't even told Mikasa, who was supposed to be her best friend. Mikasa was upset over the revelation.

To make matters worse for them—because Eren honestly didn't give a shit; it wasn't his business—they had found out about their relationship through Hitch's Facebook. They were anything but pleased.

Shiganshina was a small town, lodged in the middle of the mountains, miles from the nearest sea. Generations of families let their roots expand here. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone was always just a little bit bored of their minds to the point of insanity. The situation bloated, mutating into a big fucking deal it should've never become. Sides were picked. And that's when Eren got his first glimpse of how they all really were, painting an ugly picture she hadn't realized he'd spent years trying to white-out.

Armin played the pacifier. Annie had been his good friend for years. He'd even had a weird crush on her when they were younger. Armin didn't _want_ to pick sides. But complacency is choosing a side. Bertolt helped, both of them going back and forth between Annie and the group. It pissed Annie off. It pissed Eren off. Mikasa barely spoke to her after that. Sasha claimed to be a neutral party but ultimately followed along with whatever Connie and Jean decided. And Jean was, well, Jean—always having an opinion on everything, and figured that if Annie didn't tell them, then, maybe, she never trusted them all this time.

The cafeteria tuned in for another segment on the Eren & Jean show that day.

"So, you came here right after," Annie concluded—not a question.

"I was already on my way here when I saw them."

She nodded slowly out of his peripheral. Eren forced himself to scarf down the last bite. Swallow it—anything to make noise. Not leave him alone to the deafening silence of his mind.

"Are you ever gonna tell him, Eren?"

"Uh." His brows furrowed up at the sky, "Why would I?" He asked another before Annie could ask, "Shouldn't that be _Mikasa's_ responsibility? _She's_ the one dating him." When Annie didn't answer, Eren looked at her. She stared back at him blankly, expression inscrutable. He sighed. "They were on a break when we slept together. Only one time. I don't get why I gotta be the one to tell him."

"You know she'd never do it," She told him, speaking from personal experience. And she was right. Mikasa was secretive. "She loves him too much. And you're the one with a guilty conscience."

 _Love,_ he scowled. If it was that, then why'd she run to _him_ the very first chance she broke free from Jean? "What do I have to feel guilty about?" Eren asked instead. "Mikasa used me. She wanted to get back at him." _I think._ He never asked her what happened between them, couldn't ask with the way Mikasa hastily shoved on her clothes and slipped out of his bedroom as quickly as she'd waltzed in his house.

Annie shrugged and ate the last piece of her sandwich. "Whatever. At the end of the day, you're gonna do whatever it is you do," She clapped her palms, reaching for the next slice. "No point in wasting my breath."

Eren faced her. Her brows were drawn low, face contorted in concentration. But there was something else.

"What's up with you?" He tipped her sandwich with a finger. Annie scowled, slapping his wrist. "You're the one who looks more bothered than usual."

She clenched her jaw. She wasn't angry. She was debating on whether to spill it. "It's my band," Annie admitted, frowning. "Hannah called me this morning. She quit."

He burst into a seated posting, facing her entirely with a slacked jaw. "Oh, shit!"

"Yeaaah," Annie drawled. She crinkled her nose, the sun twinkling off her septum. "Her mom's not doing well again. It looks serious this time."

Eren nodded. Annie's lead guitarist, Hannah Diamont, dropped out their sophomore year. She was supposed to get married, and Eren might not know much about love, but he knew that wasn't meant to last at sixteen. She went to night school, which interfered with the band a lot. Her mother was constantly in and out of the hospital, a mountain of bills stacking. Sperm donor not around.

"Gotcha."

Annie rubbed her forehead, magenta and white nail polish chipped, most of her fingers fashioned in rings. "I don't mean to be an asshole, but she quit at a horrible time. There was so much to do." She leaned back, flush against the railing, her face crumpling. "We tanked at the club over the summer because of how often she needed to be with her mom, and we're already signed up to be at a battle of the bands in November." Her lip quivered, and Annie bit it, trying to suppress her anxiety. "I have no one to replace her. Pieck says she knows a couple of girls, so... Maybe I should hold auditions?"

Annie dropped her head in her hands. " _Can_ I even find someone on her level? I can't keep turning down these venue offers. This is all _so_ fucked up."

Eren merely blinked at her. "... Why not me?"

Annie's head snapped up, glaring at him. "Because it's an all-girl band. No penises allowed?" She ventured.

"Yeah, yeah, like The Runaways, I know," He waved off, hearing her feminist speech a million times before. "But, Annie. With one girl out and your complete lack of girl friends to take her place, what're you supposed to do except wait until when—or worse, _if_ —Hannah comes back?" Eren asked, holding her gaze. "You _could_ hold auditions, but... think about how many people can put up with you. I can count it on one hand." He did, holding up four fingers.

Annie didn't answer; her expression still and cold as her ice eyes. He didn't strike a nerve, but she had to know he was right. Annie just wouldn't admit it.

"Annie," Eren continued, "You know I'm serious about music. I know _this_ —" He indicated to her notebook, her guitar. "—is what I wanna do for the rest of my life." He sliced a glare over her shoulder, towards the cafeteria. "That's why I'm not with _them_ anymore. They weren't going anywhere." He stared at her. " _You_ are, though. Just like your dad almost did. But you're gonna go beyond him—I can tell."

Her full lips pulled into a hard line. Her eyes scrutinized Eren's sincerity, finding the faults in every sentence of his speech. "My band's not about getting famous, Eren," She differed, fingering her bangs before flicking them away. "Of course, that would be nice. Really nice. My father could really use the money. But fame's not the reason I wanted to start a band—it's not why my dad started one, either."

Eren scratched his jaw. He wasn't that naïve. Armin once ran him the statistics of musician success rates—the same day Eren decided to quit the band. That conversation ended awfully on Eren's end because he never asked to hear just how many people don't make it. How many people end up staying locally. That wouldn't happen to him. Eren would make sure of it.

"I just wanna help, Annie," He mumbled to her dirty, Hello Kitty laced Converse. Mikasa's old pair. Eren met Annie's eyes. "And I think you can help me, too. You can help me get experience." He shrugged. "Maybe I'll go solo one day."

"Mhm…" Annie stared back at him for an extended, uncomfortable amount of time. Impassive and skeptical. Most people would've looked away. Not him. He could take whatever Annie threw at him.

He was always a ball of awe and envy whenever he saw Annie's band up on that stage. The club was small, but it didn't matter to Eren. At least Annie was up there, getting the recognition she deserved. He'd tried to talk his guys into it. They were chickenshits except for Floch. Floch loved the idea. Eren had never seen the guy so happy. Some of their speeches swayed Armin, but Connie and Bertolt? Forget it. Connie was already a band geek, and he'd had enough of center stage life. And Bertolt had enough spotlight with basketball. There was no need for them to do more. Since everyone didn't agree, they stayed trapped in Bertolt's basement.

And Red Riot! went further into a pile of shit when they voted Floch out. 3-1.

"I want people to connect through my music, Eren." She reminded him. Annie told him that years ago, back when the two of them were learning to play guitar—well, him more so than her. Before they drifted apart.

Why had they drifted apart?

After the fallout of The Eraserheads, Mr. Leonhart put all his money into owning a music store by the south side of town. It was the only music store in Shinganshina. Not the best location, but at the time, mom and pop's still hadn't gone out of business. The Eraserheads were local, never blew up—the most they'd ever traveled to was upstate. Mr. Leonhart never wanted it to; they were always meant to be here, at the heart of it all. One of their members always pushed them to do more, to do better, but Annie's father put his foot so far down. He told both of them this one rainy day in the middle of guitar lessons.

But Eren didn't get it. Why would Mr. Leonhart choose to spend the rest of his life cursed to this town, to a store he no longer owned, when he could've listened to his friend and gone above and beyond? The Eraserheads were _good_. They would've left a legacy by now. Eren hadn't been shy about voicing his distaste over the situation.

Mr. Leonhart just grinned, pudgy face wrinkled, his deep brown eyes kind, and said that if he'd gone mainstream, he probably wouldn't be here with them right now, teaching them how to play guitar. Which was true. But Eren still found it fishy. Even 'til this day.

By the time Eren had met Annie—in the sandbox one recess, pulling her hair. She'd whacked him across the face, his nose bleeding profusely—she already knew how to play without her fingers bleeding. And she could read most of the music without her father's help. They were seven, and Eren was a little more than jealous. He vowed to catch up to her, and he did two years later. His earliest memories were in that music room in the back of her father's shop, the walls decorated with Fender's and Gibson's and signed acoustics, and so many framed photographs of Mr. Leonhart with famous bands and artists. While Mikasa and Armin were busy with their school clubs, Eren spent his afternoons with Annie, learning songs like Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love," and Jimi Hendrix's "Little Wing," and Black Sabbath's "N.I.B.."

Annie once confessed that she'd never seen her father so happy like back then. He loved watching the two of them trying not to trip over cables, Annie singing along perfectly and husky to the words while Eren vocalized with her in his horrible off-key—which hadn't improved much over the years—jamming out to the classics. He loved teaching children music. He loved seeing the art children could create, she told him.

Eren nodded imperceptibly. "I know, Annie. I get that." He said, a little lost in how _easy_ everything was when they were young, when their dreams were too big for their small bodies. Where'd the time go? They were older now, and some things were still the same. "I just regret wasting all my time on them when I could've been putting my abilities elsewhere."

"Friendships are messy."

Eren chortled. "You got that right."

She rolled her shoulders, stretched her arm. Pensive. Finally, her diamond eyes fixed on him. "Okay, fine. You can take Hannah's spot—"

Eren punched the air in victory. _Hell yeah!_

"—on _one_ condition."

"Ugh." Eren deflated like a balloon. "I _hate_ rules."

"I don't give a shit," Annie quipped. "I want lyrics. New lyrics."

Eren slowly cocked his head to the side. "I thought you were a writer? Why would you want lyrics from me?"

Annie held up her notebook. It was full of nothing but scratched out or whited-out lines. He could only make out one word, the title—"You." "It's been like this for a couple of weeks, going on a month. I knew things were getting bad with Hannah. I just didn't expect..." She shook her head. "Doesn't matter anymore, I guess. I wanted to play a new song for the competition, but it looks like we'll be doing a cover."

Eren tilted his head to the sky. "Things aren't any better on my end," He confessed. "I haven't been able to come up with anything since I left the band."

"That sucks, but I'm not here for excuses," Annie said. "Lyrics are all I want from you. I know you can play. You're... good." She admitted reluctantly, much to his shock. Annie shifted, the chunky chain clipped on her pleated, plaid skirt scraping against the rigged aluminum. She planted her elbows on her thighs, steepled her fingers. "Come up with a couple of lines. We'll... put our brains together."

Eren broke into a laugh, the noisy sound generating a raised brow from Annie. He waved off her confusion, telling her, "Armin told me something like that this morning."

"Did he now?" She sounded bored. Armin might've had a crush on her, but she'd never reciprocated his feelings.

Her disdainful tone only made his grin stretch wider. "He wanted me and Jean to work together on lyrics." He pantomimed puking at her feet. "I told him there was no way in hell I'd ever work with that guy."

She scowled, sweeping her legs away, but said, "Good. They don't deserve you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some band names will be taken from Boku No Hero Academia’s hero names. And any song lyrics Eren writes will not be mine. I wish I could be that creative to come up with my own 😔. I will make sure to credit the artist and title of the song at the beginning or end of every chapter where lyrics are mentioned. I mentioned the title "You" which is a song by The Pretty Reckless.


	3. Chapter 3

The cracked hallway directing Eren to the student drop-off seemed to stretch endlessly.

He didn't remember it being _this_ long earlier this morning. These clusterfucks of students weren't helping. Both sides were flanked by the two-story wings, regular rectangular structures that'd been built over fifty years ago, all with dead-end spaces between them. The dome-shaped auditorium peeped through the columns just a few feet up ahead to his right.

No escape in sight. There was no point hoping for something utterly hopeless.

Sophomore year, Eren thought he'd found a much quicker route—cutting through the grassy patchy in D-Wing. But, no. Both ends of the school were more or less the same traffic, students trying to figure out their pick-up spots for the rest of the year. What mattered was _timing._ A minute too late, and _this_ —the crush—happened. Hannes wouldn't take him home right away. Eren and Daz—and now Historia—were the first pickups, but they'd be the final stops.

He just wanted to get back home, back to his dog.

How'd she manage today? Eren hoped she hadn't ripped apart the couch. She was just getting over her teething stage, their dining tables' legs her favorite victims. She only had the occasional slip-up now. He could picture his mother arriving home now and having a cow over whatever Titan had done while all three of them were gone.

The thought almost made Eren smile. He had to find the bright spots, cradle them in his hands, never let them go. If only this pile of bodies could _move_. What was the holdup?

The stench of clove cigarettes invaded his nostrils.

Eren scrunched his nose, blindly searching around for the source, so many different colored hairs zooming through his peripheral. His father smoked on occasion, fond of Cuban cigars, but he only smoked whenever family came over. Eren wasn't much of a smoker—a puff of weed only when he was anxious and stressed out. Still, he couldn't miss out on his old man's and cousin's stories about Vega Baja, Puerto Rico. How different it was living in Marley. How different it was here in Paradis.

Of course, the culprit was Floch Forster, nestled in that dead-end alleyway space between B and C-Wing, leg propped on the wall. It was one of the most popular hangout spots in the morning. No cameras.

As if things couldn't get worse. Someone had it out for him today.

Floch's green eyes swept to the side, _knowing_ someone was staring at him, finding Eren in the crowd. He'd never wished he'd been short. Until now.

"Yeager," He called, a small, sardonic smile stretching across his mouth. He even gave a flick of a wave.

Floch looked a lot better than this morning, Eren had to admit. And by that, it meant he wasn't glaring poisoned daggers at him anymore. He didn't sit near him in second period, but sometimes Eren could feel his gaze, gem-green eyes trying to incinerate the side of his head, will his brain to implode. A silent death. But Floch's calmness could mean numerous things that Eren wasn't interested in getting to the bottom. The kid had a natural disposition for mind games and manipulation, and Eren just didn't have the mental fortitude today. Not today. He'd already exhausted most of it.

He just wanted to go home. Eren just wanted the day to be _over._ What was so wrong with going home?

"How're you doing?" Floch continued, unaware of Eren's internal dilemma. Or maybe he could smell it. His face was utterly pallid, the sun shining on him; his hair a fiery flicker—a flicker that could very well spread into a wildfire.

Eren had to raise his voice a little bit to be heard over the murmurs. "What do you want, Floch?"

"Oh-ho!" He grinned. "Is that any way to treat a former bandmate?"

"Seeing the way you treat others…" Eren trailed off, shrugging. "I feel like it's called for."

Floch laughed bitterly. "Like you're one to talk." He inhaled a drag. "You have no idea how you ruined me, Yeager."

The statement threw him for a loop. _What_? And then Eren remembered: _Floch thinks I snitched._ That it was Eren's fault Floch got suspended, sent to juvie for a few months.

He ground his back teeth, hard. Eren needed to collect his thoughts. _Better to think than to just say,_ he tried to tell himself. He needed to keep a low profile after his little lunch conflict. Some girls in Rico Brzenska's fifth period Honors English class talked about it when he walked in.

Glancing up at the ceiling, he saw that it was a stale grey. Cracked. One of the bulbs flickered on and off. Like his patience.

Eren hustled through a minor gap between students, avoiding knocking into a girl's head with his elbow. He stalked up to Floch, hands securely shoved in his hoodie. "I wasn't the one who reported you to Pixis," Eren told him. "I couldn't literally give less of a shit what you do with your life. I can't tell you _who_ did it, but it wasn't me."

Floch only offered him a cool quirk of his pierced brow. "So, you know who did?"

"No. I have no clue." And he didn't. He'd been trying to figure it out himself the second the story broke throughout the hallways, but Eren kept drawing a blank.

His half-finished cigarette burned slowly, the smoke coiling like a venomous snake. "Yeah," Floch chortled. "Likely story," He blew the smoke. "I saw you go to the main office earlier that day," Floch continued, pointing at him with the burning end. "You're a lot of things, Yeager, but a liar isn't one of them."

"It was for—" Eren shook his head like a dog. It was for a meeting with the counselor about the _disturbing words_ a teacher overheard him saying. Eren hadn't even said a word the entire period; it'd been the asshat sitting behind him. The counselor didn't believe him, but with no other evidence and a pretty clean record during his years in high school, Eren was free to go. "—doesn't even matter, believe whatever you want."

Eren leaned on C-Wing's cement wall, parallel to Floch, fixing him with a steady look. "We both knew it was only a matter of time before you got caught," He shrugged. "I don't have anything to prove to you, Floch. I voted for you to stay."

His mouth twisted into a scathing smile, his expression wan in a way Eren hadn't seen before. Floch was naturally light-skinned, but this was too pale, even for him. He'd lost a couple of pounds since the last time Eren saw him, smashing Bertolt's stained-glass lamp against the wall and charging up the steps and out of his house. His cheeks were hollowed, his eyes bugging out unnaturally, grey around the rims. His hair was thin and frail, thinner than it looked when he'd bleached it last year.

But Eren wouldn't feel bad for him. This is what Floch decided.

"Aww," Floch cooed mockingly. "You want a cookie or something for your good deeds, Yeager-boy? You're _such_ a good guy. Bravo!"

Eren almost knocked his head against the wall, opting to drop his eyes to the dirt floor. He didn't think of himself as a good guy—more as someone who saw something wrong and fixed it. But what Eren thought was wrong, may not be what others believed it to be. Take Mikasa. That wasn't his fault. Eren knew he could've handled the situation better by not allowing his feelings to bubble to the surface. He'd been weak and succumbed to her crying eyes and her trembling voice and her touches, yearning for her in a way he never had before. All while she still had her heart set on someone else.

Annie was right. He did feel guilty.

"I'm not a good guy," Eren finally mumbled.

"Glad you're finally starting to see it," Floch relished in his statement, his green eyes sparkling. "A little birdie told me you quit right after they kicked me out."

"Yeah."

"That's interesting."

Now it was Eren's turn to raise a brow. "Why's that so surprising?" He folded his arms across his chest. "You're the only one who was into the band and the music. We were… similar." He admitted reluctantly. His admission garnered a slip in Floch's mischievous demeanor, his eyes flashing briefly. Eren decided to keep going, "What's _surprising_ is Armin recruiting Jean to take both our places."

Floch's lip curled into a deep scowl. "That fucking rich pretty boy." He spit on the ground. Another thing he and Eren shared. "But you honestly can't be surprised."

Eren thought about it, mind like a movie reel, as he thought of how Jean had managed to worm his way into just about anything. "No. I guess not."

"Disgusting. The band's doomed."

"I agree." He didn't mention how Armin had begged him this morning.

Floch sighed, blowing the smoke towards the sky. "Well, whatever. I'm glad they kicked me out now. No way in hell I'd ever work with that self-righteous asshole. He's worse than you." His eyes landed back on Eren. "And I heard you're part of the Lionhearts now."

His eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"

"Oh, Eren," Floch clucked, like talking to a kid who wasn't getting the math problem. "You just said it. We're the same. It's just the natural next step for guys like us. We're not meant to stick around losers like them for so long." Floch held up his palms, facing the sky, a picture of calm and uncaring. "We wasted so much time being there when we could've been putting our talents to actual use."

Eren heaved through his nose, nostrils flaring, hating how much it was instinctually ingrained in him to defend his former friends—especially Armin. He was the most vulnerable to Floch's jabs, the guy who didn't quite _fit_ with their band because he didn't dress the part, didn't have much of a presence. He chose to blend into the background, fiddling with Grandpa Arlert's old keyboard. Eren never knew why Armin stuck around.

"Ya know," Floch said, bringing Eren back to the present. He rubbed his chin, no stubble. His nails were yellowed, and not because he'd spent last night polishing them. "Now that I think about it… Maybe Annie might have a chance of winning."

His cheek twitched at Floch's condescending tone. He gripped his arms tight. Part of him just wanted to leave, but there was nowhere to go. "She's been doing fine without me."

"Sure. If you don't recall that second place fucking _sucks_ for any performer." His brows fell low, mouth still stretched in a smile. "You miss her collection of second and third place medals?" Floch inhaled another drag, drawing it out as long as he could, savoring the way Eren stood there, silent and simmering. "You know second place doesn't mean shit—not even in the Olympics. It's all or nothing, win or lose, big leagues or mediocrity, in this industry. It's no wonder she's resorting to you."

Eren found he didn't want to punch him—not as inclined as he'd been this morning with Armin. It's not that he hated Floch. Eren didn't particularly _like_ Floch, either. And he definitely wasn't sure what exactly they classified as—friends, enemies? Frenemies? If Armin and Floch were tied to a railroad with trains oncoming, Eren would've chosen Armin before all of this mess. He wasn't sure now.

Floch hadn't been around Shiganshina for long. He moved here freshman year. Nobody knew what to do with him. Floch didn't belong anywhere. Nobody wanted to claim him. Too weird, or what, Eren didn't know. He guessed his friends took pity on him, invited him into their little group, and eventually let him slide into their band—which Eren didn't mind at all. The guy had _a voice—calm_ yet destructive, like a waterfall.

But their pity ran thin. They kicked Floch to the curb once they found out he was dealing pills like a regular Walgreens Pharmacy transaction. They didn't even bother to understand _why._ It wasn't because Floch wanted to. He had to. His foster father had left Floch and his foster mother with the mortgage and bills, and now adding the divorce bill…

"She's bound to win."

"And now, she might." Floch paused. " _Maybe."_

His fingers curled into fists. Eren tucked his fist into his elbow, straining his wrist. Annie didn't need anyone defending her.

But Eren couldn't help but take Floch's bait. "What's that supposed to mean, Floch?"

He dropped the bud on the ground. Stomped it out with the toe of his boot. Slowly. The decaying grass swished the steel-toe point, the sun winking.

Floch pushed off the wall, flashing yellowing teeth, a sweaty forehead, but he held Eren's gaze the entire way towards the rest of the student body. "Only that you should watch yourself this year, Yeager."

He wished this were a game of _Super Smash Bros_ his friends used to play, where Master Hand could slam him down and launch him in the direction of home. Eren scrubbed a hand down his face. At least he was shaded. The sunlight had been pouring down on Floch and his peeling leather jacket and baggy Tripp pants.

"Eren? You okay?"

He whirled at the sound of that voice.

Historia recoiled, hand raised like she'd intended to reach for his hoodie to grab his attention. She opened her palm, waving cautiously. "Hi. You okay?" She repeated, peering up at him in concern. "You look like you've been through some shit today."

He blinked owlishly, looking over the top of her head. The crush still hadn't let up, but Floch was gone. _Vanished like a fucking ghost._ Only a subtle reek of cigarette cloves let Eren know he'd actually been here just seconds before Historia's arrival.

His eyes flicked down to her. "Yeah. I'm fine." He said though he wasn't entirely sure. But he was of sound mind and body, and in one piece after that confrontation. "Are you okay?"

Historia pulled her lips, trying not to laugh. "I mean, I guess so," She shrugged. " _I'm_ not the one who almost duked it out with the Neo-Nazi just now. So. I'd say that's a cause for good fortune."

She'd said it to make him laugh. Or he thought. Whatever it was, Eren laughed a little, the tension bowling down his shoulders. He hadn't realized he'd squared them, or when. Floch always had a way of keeping him on his toes.

Historia stood there, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Her phone abruptly sounded off, breaking off whatever spell she'd been sucked in—the chorus of Good Charlotte's "I Don't Wanna Be in Love." She yanked it quickly out of her pocket like her life depended on seeing that text or answering that call, and flipped it open. Her eyes were big, all of a sudden, excited. An elephant keychain dangled from the corner of her Motorola Razr.

"You wanna talk about what's going on between you two?" She asked, quickly typing, and Eren wasn't sure for a split second whether the question was aimed at him or if she was reciting it out loud for the person she was responding to.

"It's not my place to say."

"Oh, wow," Her eyes flit up, fingers pausing their rush of smashing at her keypad. "Keeping secrets even though you hate the guy's guts. You really are cute, Eren." She smiled.

He scratched the nape of his neck. "Don't call me cute, Historia." She paused again, looking up at him expectantly. Eren explained, " _Puppies_ are cute. _I'm_ not cute."

"Okay," She said conciliatory. "I see. It makes you feel emasculated."

Eren rolled his eyes, thinking better about firing back. He wasn't running empty on the fight, but Floch's ominous warning fucked with him a little.

He leaned against the wall on his shoulder, sighing exasperatedly. "And the situation with Floch… It's… complicated." Damn, that sounded so weak. A cringe threatened to engulf his entire face, but Eren schooled it in place.

Historia cast him a disbelieving glance.

"I don't hate him," Eren clarified, scratching his jawline. She went back to typing. "I don't even know what to feel about him if I'm perfectly honest."

She clapped her phone shut, the conversation over. "If you say so!" Historia chirped.

His mouth quirked. "Are you taking the bus home?"

"Duh."

"Well," He jut his chin towards the crowd. "We should go. Hannes won't wait around for long."

They walked together, sinking in. Why was it always so much easier to get _in_ than it was to get _out_? And he was a little envious of how Historia glided through the crowd like she owned it, silently ducking under arms and squeezing in and out of people like a ninja on a super-secret mission. And the mission was to get the fuck out of here. God. If he ever tried that, they'd give him backhands that would _not_ end well for anyone involved.

In less than a minute, Eren lost sight of her six times. That was too many. He was about to shout her name when Historia popped out of literal nowhere, a tiny little weasel, and grabbed his bare wrist. Her hand was so soft and delicate and barely closed over his entire wrist. She led them out into the courtyard of the drop-off zone. _Get outta the way_ worked like a charm for her.

He _wished._

Students milled under the blistering sun gathered in bundles of friends. Most of his senior class wasn't here. Staff and faculty had their own parking lot, adjacent to the freshman wing, and seniors who paid for the pass on time. Just another thing to be grateful for.

They cut through the courtyard, bee-lining for the line buses. Historia let go of his wrist, and Eren felt… weird.

He asked her about her day. Historia said she got everywhere _just fine._ Eren knew enough from hanging out with Mikasa, and Sasha, and _especially_ Annie, that whenever a girl said things were _fine,_ it actually meant that things were totally _not_ okay. And that he needed to figure out the problem immediately, using only verbal cues and microscopic hints, and search for the solution all in one swoop.

"I wish I could've been there to help."

Historia's head snapped up. Whatever she'd been furiously typing on that little blue-tinted screen momentarily forgotten. Her inscrutable expression gradually softened. "Don't worry about it, Eren. I don't expect you to always be around." She shrugged one shoulder, looking back down. "Besides, it's over now. I'm sure you have other friends to worry about."

Eren rubbed the top of his head. "Not really."

The doors to their bus burst open.

"You're late," Hannes announced, the tone of surprise evident; a thick, sandy brow raised high. "You're usually one of the first guys on. You had me worried for a second, Eren. I was already thinking of all the things I'd say to your poor mother. The woman would've died of a heart attack."

Eren moved aside so Historia could climb in first. "Figured I'd take the scenic route. Senior year, you know?"

Hannes' brown eyes flicked to Historia, then back to Eren. Both of his brows raised knowingly, a smug look on his mouth, before the bus driver turned away, sticking the Twizzler back in his mouth. "Mhm. That's what they _all_ say," He mumbled after chomping a clean piece.

Eren's head tilted, confused, but didn't respond. Historia was waiting for him by his seat, waiting for him to take his window seat.

Eren flopped down. Historia sat next to him, eyes still glued to her phone. She'd clicked off the sound sometime during the walk, sending it to vibrate. It hadn't stopped.

It didn't bother him; it wasn't his business what Historia did with her life outside of school. They were friends, but they weren't like _that._ Probably never would be. They'd never go over each other's houses and shit. Or go out anywhere. He kind of wanted it to, though. And he was a little curious, despite knowing it all. She hadn't been on her phone this morning, so he briefly wondered what was going on. Whoever she was talking to was obviously crucial to her.

A few more kids trickled in. Hannes cranked the lever for the doors. Connie and Sasha didn't come in, which Eren found somewhat interesting. He didn't care about it a second later. And he didn't have to worry about Floch because he never took the bus home. The bus took off with a wild lurch forward.

Already out in the street, off the school lot, Eren breathed easier. He slipped his bag off his weary shoulders, pulling his notebook and a pen, before zipping it back up and dropping it on the floor, anchoring it with his feet. He slipped off his sweater, careful not to hit Historia, balled it in his lap. With the little space, he crossed his foot over his knee, his Vans planted on the vibrating wall and tried to write.

He figured a fresh start was what he'd need to scrape and wipe the mud clogging his brain. This week was the best opportunity to jump-shock his thoughts before his teachers piled on the homework and lessons. After Franz, Hannah's boyfriend or whatever he was now, raised his hand and asked their sixth period Honors Paradis' History teacher, Erwin Smith, to please go further in-depth about the grading scale, Eren had tugged his notebook out and flipped it open.

He'd scanned through it, reading all the fears and desires and some embarrassing rough drafts he'd completely forgotten about. One particular page caught his eye, and all the memories of that tense January night slammed back into him.

Armin had taken a breather from his code work, sipped some Coke, and asked if he could go through Eren's notebook. Nothing unusual. Eren used to pass it around so the guys could jot down their own ideas on the blank pages he kept for them towards the back. They were still there now.

Except for that night, Armin went through one of his early drafts.

His paper-thin brows had furrowed deeply. Then, his brown eyes shot open. "Eren," He seemed afraid of him all of a sudden. "you… can't write stuff like this."

Eren had done a double-take. Armin never had a problem with his lyrics before. "... What?"

He turned the notebook to emphasize his point, but Eren already knew which one he referred to. He only had a couple of lines done.

"This," Armin had said, pointing out one of them. "reflects badly on us. All of us don't think like this." He set it on his lap, opening it to a blank page and popping the cap of his pen open. "We should be writing something else. Something… uplifting. Like Journey's music. With Floch's voice, we could be them."

Floch hadn't responded to that, busy reading an old _Rolling Stones_ magazine he'd read a million times already.

Eren had been at a loss, too stunned and short-circuited to answer. Journey wasn't a horrible band, but that's not what he wanted to write.

Bertolt hadn't had much of an opinion, mindlessly tapping a beat on his drum set in the corner of the room.

Connie had come down the stairs, peering over Armin and Eren's shoulders, munching on a family-size bag of Doritos, breathing the substance by their faces. "Hey, hold on, Armin. Lemme see!"

Armin had flipped back to it.

"Whoa! Eren…" Connie's eyes had flown open too, large like he'd walked in on his parents having sex. He'd blinked, his mouth settling on a grimace the more he read through it. "That's… something else, man. A little weird," He'd passed Eren an apologetic glance before he settled into a serious expression. "You all right, dude?"

Eren had clenched his jaw. "I'm fine. It's just a song."

Floch had taken that moment to pop off the long couch and stomp over. He snatched the book from Armin. Connie and Armin had started to protest, both of them reaching it, but Floch took a couple of steps back, inspecting it with dead eyes.

So it had shocked the hell out of Eren when Floch announced he liked it and tossed his notebook back to him. Floch jabbed a finger at the notebook. "Now _that's_ what we should be playing. _That's_ what I wanna sing—none of this pansy Journey shit or the Beatles or whatever the fuck else you've been trying to feed me."

Armin's eyes had darted between them. "But, Floch—" He'd started, looking to Eren for some kind of help.

But, for once, Eren didn't know what to say.

"But _nothing,_ Arlert," Floch interrupted, sweeping his then-platinum fringe to the side. His roots had been starting to grow in, creating a stark opposition—a strawberry shortcake. "You guys really need to trust the writer to do his job. Stop being such pussies and have faith in the story Eren—" He cut off Armin's opening mouth. "—doesn't matter if you agree with it or not.

He pointed another finger at Armin, a warning. Once, it would've made Eren leap to his feet and tackle anyone who did that to Armin to the ground. " _You're_ not the one writing the music. _He_ is." Floch pointed to Eren, highlighting his point.

"Yeah, I know," Armin nodded, trying to understand Floch's point. "But I still don't think we should be perpetuating the wrong ideas."

Floch had rolled his eyes.

Eren wasn't shocked by Floch's vulgarity, but he _was_ surprised how quick Floch had rushed to his defense. And he'd felt torn apart inside. Eren wanted to defend his friends. He knew Armin was just looking out for him. Sort of. But the more Eren meditated on Floch's words, the more time passed with not a single instrument being played aside from Bertolt's inconsistent drumming. If Connie's loud chewing could be counted as a melody, the more Eren realized… Floch was right. They were a bunch of chickenshits.

He hadn't looked at these lyrics since that night, pushed back on the stove burners to simmer on low heat. And pages after dealing with the same kind of melancholy words, topics Armin couldn't stomach because he didn't understand. Not the way guys Eren and Floch did.

Armin said these were all their songs.

 _No_ , Eren told him hours ago, though even now, the bus rattling on the harsh gravel, still angry that Armin ever _thought_ they'd be anything less than his. _They're_ my _songs._

He wanted to finish it. Had to finish it.

The ride home was agonizing slow, traffic having to adjust to school being up and running for another year. Eren jotted a few more words down before he had nothing else. Hannes had turned the radio on, some hip-hop song Eren didn't recognize trickling through the broken speakers. Nobody was listening to it, especially not Historia.

He caught her slender, pointed profile. The hint of makeup, no mascara coating her lashes. Her cherry earrings. He didn't notice that this morning. Her thin brows were drawn low, forehead puckered, lips pulled into an equally thin line.

Upset.

"You okay?"

She ripped her eyes away from her phone, though they were still clouded in pin-pricks of annoyance. "Hm?"

He tucked his pen behind his ear. "You seem mad."

She staggered a second. "It's… my sister."

"Okay," He said. "What's up?"

Historia smiled, but her dimples didn't show. "She's crazy paranoid I'm gonna spoil the book for her," She rolled her shoulders smoothly. "She's a huge Emmett fan, and she's mad that I'm reading it first while she's gotta wait for the weekend to finish it."

"Ahuh." Eren scratched his head and blurted, "If you don't wanna tell me, all you have to do is say so."

She looked back at him, brows furrowed in a way that told him it wasn't often someone called her out on her shit. "What, you don't believe me?"

"Not at all. But," Eren shrugged. "I can't do anything about it. I should probably keep out of it, right?"

She squinted at him. That came out a little pretentious. He hadn't meant it to.

He immediately opened his mouth to apologize, but Historia leaned back, pressing her pin-straight back against the peeling chair. Her phone lay open on her lap. He wouldn't look. Eren didn't care to invade her privacy. He'd be pissed if someone went through his notebook without his consent.

"Okay. It's my ex," Historia confessed quietly, fixing her eyes straight ahead in a forlorn gaze. "We broke up before summer. Well. I broke up with her before I moved here. It's been… weird between us ever since."

"Sounds heavy," He commented. She bit her lip, avoiding his eyes. Eren shut his notebook. "You… wanna talk about it?"

She cast him a woeful look, searching his face for something that would stop her. Was she afraid he'd tell? _Who_ would he even tell? He only had Annie, and Annie couldn't give less about anything other than her band, her father, and Hitch.

"So," She began, "we were friends for a really long time before we started dating. Really good friends. I guess she was my best friend, really. And," Historia shrugged, jerky. "I dunno. She's kind of a pain in the ass to read. She tells me one thing and wants another—that kind of deal. It's very confusing to me."

"She wants you back?"

Historia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Honestly? I have no idea. I _think_ so, but she's so damn stubborn and won't come out and say it." Historia dropped her hand on her lap, her phone still open. "And even if she did, I already told her I can't handle the distance. I can't. That's why I broke it off. Three thousand miles apart is too much for me."

Eren's brows furrowed. "You wouldn't… You didn't want to give it a try?"

"No." Historia shook her head, firm. "I don't think so, no." She twisted her body to him, shutting her phone closed and tucking it in her back pocket. "I know it probably makes me sound like a coward—"

"It doesn't," He said. "Not to me."

Her lips quirked, a wash of relief before her eyes hardened. "—but I saw my sister go through one. Even at, like, fourteen, I knew _that_ could never be me." Historia elaborated without encouragement, "Frieda got really hot and heavy and head over heels for one of her friends back home. She was in law school, and he ended up going to community college. He ended up cheating on her barely a few months in." Historia shook her head. "It was awful. I've never heard her cry so much."

She threw her hands up, circling back to the topic. "Long story short, they're not on speaking terms anymore. I don't want that to be Ymir and I." Historia paused. "... And it's not that I think she would do what that asshole did to my sister, but…" She twisted her lips, pondering. Historia didn't have to say it. Eren could guess. She might not believe it'll happen, but she worried underneath the surface.

"Long-distance relationships rarely work out. Things just aren't the same the way they were a hundred years ago." Historia frowned. "Romance is dead."

Eren didn't know what to say. He'd never been in love. Not the heavy kind of love. The type of love where he'd sacrifice everything and everyone except for that _one_ person. Unless whatever he felt for Mikasa counted. So he settled on, "Sure."

Which hadn't been the right thing to say. Historia gave him a cynical grin, her dimples flaring. "No, you don't."

"No. I mean it."

She poked his arm. "Who's the one lying now?"

"I'm not lying!" He denied hotly, rubbing his neck. "I just… I don't get it. Why you wouldn't try."

Historia sat back, tilted her head. "...You're saying I should've given it a try?"

"Why not?" Eren shrugged languidly, holding his palms facing the ceiling. "You don't have anything to lose."

She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "The problem is that I'm a jealous jelly bean! And Ymir's a hundred times worse. It's a recipe for disaster, so we agreed not to try it. Or, well, I _thought_ that part was a mutual decision." She picked up her phone but didn't flip it open, just bringing attention to it for whatever she wanted to say next. "She's been sending me some pretty questionable texts lately. I don't know what to make of them."

"Okay," Eren said, nodding in slow understanding. "Now I'm starting to get it."

She hurled a face at him, her lips stretched into a grin. "I don't expect you to get it." She punched his arm lightly. "You sound like too much of an old soul. Not up with modern times. Old man," Historia jeered.

Eren rolled his eyes, a heat crawling across his cheeks he wanted to conceal by tucking his chin on his bag. But his bag was on the floor and _fuck_. He burned holes into the seat in front of his and changed the subject. "So you're living with your sister?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Where'd you live before?"

"Stohess," She replied slowly. It sounded like it took a lot out of her to say it. Even the way Historia looked at him was interesting.

She was petrified of his reaction.

Had he been giving off the wrong vibes?

Eren bit his lip, eyes on the floor. "How come?" He asked. "How come you didn't finish high school back in Stohess?"

Historia pulled on her ripped shorts. "It's kind of a long story. Mind if we don't talk about that?"

"Yeah. That's fine." He said, though, he was disappointed at the door shutting so abruptly.

Things weren't easier when he was a kid. His snarky attitude always landed him in fistfights—starting back in the sandbox days, when this kid had shoved his face into the sand. He never liked to share his toys, no matter how much his parents tried to teach him. He'd almost banned from the park for giving this one kid a nasty black eye. Those kids' parents ended up leaving a few months later. Eren had always been suspended from school a few times. He never knew how his parents came through, never figured it out.

When Mikasa and Armin came along, things got a little better. He still got into fights, but now it was from defending Armin from bullies.

Historia poked his arm, plucking him out of his thoughts. All of that tension was gone. Had it been a figment of his imagination? "Hey, where'd those _arms_ come from?" She briefly ran her fingers along his muscles. He almost shuddered. "Are you on the basketball team or something?"

"Uh. No. Just, uh. Spent a lot of time outside with my mom and my dog over the summer—"

"You have a _dog_?" Historia repeated, radiating kid energy, her eyes big and her fists clenched in excitement. "Do you have pictures? Can I see? Are they still a puppy?"

Eren fumbled for his phone, clicking through his photo log.

Historia stole his phone, cooing and crooning over Titan. "He's so huge—oh, she! And look at that face! That belly!" Eren was torn between laughing and being perplexed. What was it with girls and dogs? Even stone-cold Annie had a weakness for cats—especially fat orange tabbies. "Is she a Purebred?"

"The vet thinks so."

"Adopted?"

"Nah. I found her."

A soft expression crossed Historia's face. "Your parents were okay with you taking her in?"

"Weeell," He elongated, and Historia grinned already. "My old man's always wanted a dog. My mom… Ah, she threw a fit—still does, because Titan sheds so much for a pittie." Eren pointed at his phone still in her hand, a picture he'd taken of Titan when she first learned to sit. "We have a black leather couch, so you can imagine."

Historia laughed. "You named your dog Titan?"

Eren almost flushed, scratching his jaw. "Well, yeah. She sat next to me when I watched _Remember the Titans_ ," He pointed again. Historia squinted at another photo of her, snuggling in Grisha's arms; his face was cut off from the neck up. "And—just _look_ at her! She's built."

Historia shook her head, biting her lip. She gave him his phone back. She pulled out her Razr, and Eren was a little worried she'd go back to texting her ex until she said, "My sister has the most _hideous_ cat ever. Her name's Maleficent."

Eren cocked his head. "... Like after the villain in _Sleeping Beauty._ "

"Yes," Historia answered, clicking through her phone. "I have no idea why Frieda kept the name, though. The adoption center told her she could pick another name since Maleficent was still a kitten when we got her. But…" Historia shrugged. "Frieda liked it. So it sucked. And, honestly, I think the name's well deserved."

"That's kind of a weird— _holy shit!"_ She'd shoved the phone in his face. Eren's eyes widened. A pure white ball of fluff with a rounded forehead, wide, smushed nose, and striking blue eyes that drooped.

He met Historia's gleaming eyes. "That _is_ one ugly cat, Historia," Eren admitted.

"And she's _evil,_ just like her name," Historia hissed, glaring down at a photo she'd taken of—who Eren guessed because they looked identical, except for the black hair—Frieda and Maleficent. "She hisses at everyone, and if we leave her outside for too long, she'll go around terrorizing the kids in our complex. It's _awful,_ and she's got this nasty attitude, too—she _just_ got used to me picking her up."

Eren shook his head in disbelief. "Titan's not like that. She loves people. Well, now she does. She didn't before."

Historia glared at him. "Oh, okay. _Sure_." She drawled, pocketing her phone. "Just rub in how much of an angel your dog is."

Eren grinned. "She is."

Not long after, Hannes arrived at their stop. Eren hadn't even realized where the time had gone. He stuffed his notebook into his backpack and shot to his feet after Historia, his sweater balled in his hand. Daz trailed behind him, iPod earphones lodged in, though Eren could hear Tupac's "Changes" loud and clear.

Eren stepped off the bus, giving Hannes a wave, partially turned around. "See you tomorrow, Hannes."

"See ya, brat. Let me know when your parents throw another party." The doors slammed shut. Hannes took off, down the sun-baked block.

Historia left him on the curb with a quick wave and a goodbye, heading in Daz's same direction, the opposite direction of Eren's house. _She can't be far off,_ Eren thought. He wanted to… He didn't know what he wanted, but he didn't want her to leave yet.

He wrapped the sleeves of his sweater around his waist. "Hey, wait," He called. Historia stopped, staring up at him expectantly. "How come you asked me if I was on the team?"

She blinked like it should've been _undeniable_. "... Because you have nice arms, and I'm a cheerleader?"

He sized her up—barely all five feet of her. "No shit?"

Historia huffed, her arms shooting to cross over her chest, glaring up at him with all her five feet of rage. " _Why_ would I lie about that?"

"I'm not saying you were!"

She gave him a little 'hmph' sound and a scowl. "I saw a couple of spots open when my sister signed me up for school, so I tried out," She pivoted on her heel, graceful. "There wasn't a cheerleading team at my old school. I've always wanted to try. It looks fun."

Eren accompanied her. "I believe that."

She squinted up at him again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Eren rubbed his neck, wincing. What _did_ he mean by that? "It, um. It fits you."

Those blueberry eyes silently assessed him. The same way she'd done this morning. And on the bus. It kind of made his skin crawl—in the right way? But Eren wondered just _what_ she was looking for. Deceit? He didn't have time for that. Passive-aggression? He had enough of that with his friends and wouldn't do it to anyone else. Maybe looking for the switch for his filter. He couldn't help that his mouth worked faster than his brain—the cons of being bilingual.

He cut his gaze ahead. In a couple of weeks, summer would finally cool down into the fall. Eren couldn't wait. He couldn't wait to rack up all the fallen leaves in his backyard, shove them into a little hill, and see if Titan would nose-dive right into in like those dog videos people sent in on _America's Funniest Home Videos._

"I'm just saying," Historia brought him back to the present, walking by his side with impressive speed. "It would've been nice to have someone to cheer for."

"Reiner's your best bet."

"I keep hearing his name around."

"He's the quarterback. Huge guy? Blond and blue-eyed, like you?" Eren raised a flat palm, a little past his height. Historia shook her head. "Well, you'll see him. You'll know it's him right away. We used to be friends a couple of years ago."

"Really?"

He nodded. "There's Porco and Marcel. Also on the football team. Brothers. Not sure what position they play. Haven't been to a game in a while," Historia listened intently. "Oh. And Bertolt. He's on the basketball team. Tallest guy in our school, _you_ can't miss him."

She slapped his arm for that. Eren laughed. "And you're _sure_ you're not popular?" Historia questioned, looking up at him, a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Eren half-smiled, his gaze fixed ahead, at the splits in the sidewalk. "Like I said, most of us grew up together."


	4. Chapter 4

Annie squinted down at the page for an uncomfortable amount of time, silently seething over another setback.

Eren popped the last ball of papa rellena into his mouth, chewing the savory meat enveloped in a thick layer of fried potato. His mother couldn't make it as well as abuela. It was his abuela's recipe, but there was something about her experienced hands, or maybe it was just _her_ , that made it so much better than his mother's.

"… What the fuck am I supposed to do with _one_ line, Eren?"

He grimaced, forcing the lump down. Eren pressed the red plastic lid down on the Tupperware, _pop pop pop_ bouncing in the tense air between them. "No idea."

She smacked the back of his head with the notebook. Tried to. Eren saw it coming and ducked in time.

It only pissed Annie off more. "Where's the rest you promised me?" She hissed.

Eren pulled his hair out of his face, only for most of it to fall back. "Still working on it," He muttered.

Her nostrils flared. If she could will it, those diamond eyes would slice right through his composition book. He hated being on the receiving end of those glares.

He might make fun of Annie for her attitude, but Hannah Diamant and Pieck Finger had been meticulously chosen for her all-girl band. Pieck was Annie's neighbor, the daughter of The Eraserhead's drummer. She went to a Performing Arts school in Trost. Their dad might still be friends, but the two of them didn't speak much until one afternoon at Mr. Leonhart's birthday party. Their father's stuck them together for a practice session for giggles. Things clicked. Hannah dawdled in a few years later, twelve years old and wanting to get guitar lessons, the first girl in an ocean of boys, and picked up speed faster than any of them.

It sucked that she was out of commission. Eren wasn't sure how he fit in this group if he couldn't deliver, for Annie, for Hannah, for Mr. Leonhart. He'd bitten off a lot more than he could chew.

"It came to me when Zacharias started talking about linear inequalities." Eren decided to tell her, the silence too much, her glare too intense. "You know I hate math," He added snidely.

Annie scoffed, tossing his composition book carelessly onto the red picnic bench. He didn't care about that one. It was the one he used for his College Ready Math class.

Planting her elbows, she weaved her bare fingers through her platinum hair. "We're not making a song about math, Eren. What're we, eleven, and taking state exams, so we need a song to keep us motivated?"

"Obviously not," Eren said. "I fucking hated those songs, anyway."

The crisp breeze ruffled their hairs. It was the first day of fall after a rainy summer, and Eren could already see changes. The clothes. The temperature was bearable, a comfortable cool in the morning and evenings. Annie had box-bleached her hair back to a solid color over the weekend.

Didn't work.

Orange and brass awkwardly clumped together in the area where her strands had been too dark, almost black. Eren didn't mind her return to her authenticity. Still, he thought the former, punk-princess image she'd been sporting for over half a year had been cooler. Hannah had adorned extensions of all colors. He and Pieck had solid hair colors—him because he didn't care to add anything to it, and Pieck because of school policy. Annie probably didn't want to stand out so much.

 _It's a show of unity,_ Eren realized right now. It made him feel _worse_.

"It's been almost three weeks, Eren," She stressed softly. The blow still landed right in his chest.

He stared at the floor. "I know."

Eren reached down, clasping for the strap of his backpack set on the ground. He heaved it onto his lap, rooting for his notebook, the busted and taped one full of his lyrics. "But I recall you saying we'd work on it together if I came up with something."

Annie's hands slid to massage her stiff neck under the collar of her high-neck top. "I know what I said," Her lips pursed, pulling for something in that big-ass head of hers. "I just thought you'd have something a lot more… concrete." She pointed at his math notebook. "I can't work with one line."

"Well," He clicked his pen. "Sorry I'm not a miracle worker."

Annie groaned, straightening and fixing him a deadpan stare. "I don't need your excuses. I need your abilities."

It wasn't his fault. Now that classes were in full force, it was harder to concentrate and produce when his brain was clogged with nothing but essay drafts for English and choosing a topic for an upcoming project for Erwin's class. Solo project, much to his immediate relief. He tried working on that old song he never finished last night, but his mind was still coming up empty.

He flicked his pen on the table. Annie pushed away her partially finished Calculus homework due after lunch and grabbed for her unfinished turkey and Swiss sandwich, shoving the triangle into her mouth. Her chews were loud and angry and grated on him. She wanted him to know she was steaming mad for not delivering.

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Can you _stop_?"

"Absolutely not." She quipped back through her chews, shooting him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. "You made me a deal, and you're breaking it."

Eren scowled, pressing his fist to his cheek. "You should've told me there was a deadline, Annie."

"There is none."

His brows snapped. "Then why are you giving me so much shit?"

She clapped her palms, flakes floating onto her black liquid leggings, onto the ground. "Because I like having options. I don't like not having something else to fall back on in case one thing doesn't work out the way I want it to."

That made sense. Eren just wished she'd said that two weeks ago.

He glowered, glaring at the cafeteria building. Students streamed in and out in pairs, in groups of four, out of the rusting doors. Today's lunch looked like mozzarella sticks, but not the fried brown kind. These looked like they'd been brewed in Hange's lab rather than baking in an oven over a period of time. And some black guck Eren couldn't decipher. He never ate school lunch. Mikasa always had a bunch of food to share from her parents' restaurant.

Through the dirty awning, everyone was in their places like every year prior. Except the two of them, removed from what would be a regular B-Block lunch period, out here with the rest of the school outcasts all situation on the grassy knoll.

He caught Reiner Braun whisking through the room, one of those white kids who was naturally built like a bear, heading for Eren's old table. He bumped fists with Bertolt. Eren's head cocked. _When they'd make up?_ The last time Eren had seen them together was the day before football tryouts. Reiner made the team, and Bertolt couldn't cut it. So he joined the basketball team. Reiner started gravitating towards the Galliard brothers, appearing at their table less and less through freshman year. Bertolt attached himself to Armin and Marco.

He'd found their separation interesting. They'd been best friends for years, since diapers. Bertolt was there for all of Reiner's attempts to run away from home when nobody else in their group seemed to give a shit. He had a shitty father. Maybe, for them, all they'd needed was time apart.

The same couldn't be said for him. Or Armin. Or Mikasa. The three of them were stuck in their ways, not a penny chance of changing.

"Can we—"

"No."

Eren whipped a glare down at her. "You don't even know what I was gonna say!"

Annie wasn't even looking at him, flipping through his lyric book. He hadn't even realized she'd taken it from him. He didn't mind if Annie went through it. But he did feel a hint of apprehension. She used to let him read her writing. She used to ramble about _how_ she wanted to present her songs—even played him samples of catchy bass lines. Mr. Leonhart taught him a little about the bass, but Eren found it too simple. He always liked the lead guitar and its endless variations.

Annie's music was so… refined, even at fourteen. Poetry about identity. Lyrics illustrating heartbreak and empowerment. Taut melodies portraying her fears. The Lionhearts mostly played covers at their gig at the club in Trost. Still, they occasionally brought out an original piece or two. The crowd went a little wild. It made him feel like a proud parent, even though Annie was older by a couple of days.

Compared to how he envisioned his songs, though? What Eren had in mind and on paper seemed so whiny and unpolished, and he couldn't imagine Annie liking _any_ of it.

Her diamond eyes pelleted into his stormy ones, the sandwich inches from her frowning mouth. "You were about to suggest we use something from your old band."

Eren grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. _How does she do that, read me like a fucking book?_ It was so creepy! He couldn't be that predictable.

"So, no," Annie repeated because he _had_ to be reprimanded more than once like he was a child and not a competent, soon-to-be-adult next year March. "That's final."

He frowned, crossing his arms on top of the table. "Shouldn't we get Pieck's opinion on it?" Eren tried.

"I'm a hundred percent positive she'll agree with me," She looked so smug, shoving the final piece of her lunch into her mouth. "but you're more than welcome to try. She'll let you down easier. She's _much_ nicer than me."

Eren scratched his jawline, his eyes floating back over Annie's shoulder. He snapped them back. He didn't _want_ to keep looking over there. He knew what he'd always find if he kept looking that way. He couldn't keep getting lost in the nostalgia.

This is what Eren wanted. This is what they wanted. It's not like any of them except Armin were jumping at the opportunity to talk to him again.

"So…" He drawled, bored. He didn't have anything else to do. Unlike Annie, he finished his homework last night. The pros of being grounded. "Now what?"

She didn't budge, turning the page with her elegant guitar fingers. "I want a song—that's what."

Eren threw up his hands, opting for that instead of slamming his head on the table. "What else do you want me to say—I got nothing! _Nothing,_ Annie! You should've told me all this two weeks ago!"

She merely raised a brow at his outburst, twisted her pink-tinted lips into a scowl. She didn't say anything, though, leaning her head slightly forward to look over him.

A look of serenity overtook her solid features, softening them in a way nobody else but maybe her father could.

Eren followed her eyes. The cheerleaders were still practicing on the track team's pavement.

Hitch had pitched a new idea for a chant. Friday's basketball game was next week. With permission from the faculty, the cheerleading team sectioned off the bleachers, demanding the track field for practices twice a week during the school week. The football guys and Phys Ed claimed the football field. The staff never would've told them no anyway, not at the rate both the basketball team and football team were hurling towards. Sports had never been a big deal to this town until these last four years. Reiner and Bertolt were to thank for that.

Hitch pumped a fist up, shouting, "Let's hear it, ladies…S-P-I-R-I-T!" She clapped in approval when the team repeated her command in almost perfect unison.

She pivoted on her heel, stalking down the formation, her lean silhouette cutting into stripes behind the aluminum stand. "Great job, ladies! The form could use some work, though!" She sounded more like a coach than Coach Brzenska. "Okay! One more time! What do Shingeki eagles do? We fly. We dive. We hunt. And above all else—we SOAR!"

The girls repeated, though with a reservation that Hitch didn't appreciate. "No, LOUDER! We need to be heard over the crowd! …Hey, no sad faces! Happy thoughts, girls!"

It wouldn't be the first—or the last—time Eren had caught Annie red-handed, casually watching Hitch from a safe distance. Between her band gigs—which didn't interest Hitch—and Hitch's cheer events and competitions—which bored Annie to tears—it was difficult for them to find time for each other outside of school.

His thoughts wandered over to Historia. He couldn't see her from here, only peeks of the school's red gym shorts and heather grey shirts with Shingeki printed in red lettering across the chest, but Eren knew she was there, sweltering under Hitch's routine. It seemed like a lot more movement than the ones he'd seen before. Historia was always filling up their mornings and walks home with a hundred and one questions about him. He liked it. It was nice having someone to talk to that wasn't afraid of him, who didn't know anything about him. It was like starting on a clean slate.

Annie flicked the back of his head, ripping his attention away. "Stop smiling."

" _Ow!_ " Eren massaged the stinging spot on the back of his head. He'd been stupid once when he was young to cross Annie. He ended up flat on his ass. She was freakishly strong for such a tiny girl. Mikasa was like that too, always able to hold him back when he was _too much_ , as she used to say. "De pinga—What the _fuck_ was that for?"

"Don't get distracted by booty."

His hands and jaw dropped. "I'm not— _you_ were looking at them, too!"

Annie ignored him, crushing her foil into a ball, and circulated back to their earlier argument. "You should've called… or… _something_ if you really needed help."

Eren shut his mouth. Bit the inside of his cheek. He'd promised his mom he wouldn't forget. He'd walked Historia to the nicest apartment complex on his side of town, and he'd arrived home to a furious mother. And a thrilled dog.

"I'm still grounded. No phone."

Annie heaved a sigh, running a hand through her hair, her hands getting caught in the tangles. She scowled. "Well. Get ungrounded." She ran her fingers through her hair, tearing the strands apart. "I need you. We have to start practicing soon. We can't keep wasting time."

Eren's eyes flared wide.

Her cheeks tinted. "Shut up," She scolded before Eren could open his mouth. "Don't start. It was a slip of—"

"Aww, c'mon, Annie!" He ruffled hair, messing it up purposefully. "This was a great moment for us! I never in a million years thought you'd—"

Her nose twitched, septum blazing threateningly under the slant of sun peeking from the passing cloud. "I regret saying anything. Your ego's a thousand times worse than mine."

"That's what Hitch tells you?"

"Oh, yeah," Annie said, recovering quickly, clipping her hair back with a hair clip she always kept attached to the hem of her shirts or jackets. "Among other stuff."

Eren deflated. "Okay. Don't need to know the rest," He dumped his head on his hand, frowning. He drummed his fingers on the table, the cheerleaders still chanting from his side. "But, seriously, Annie, you should've told me all of this when you let me in."

She shrugged. "I honestly didn't think it'd be that important."

Eren sighed. "Okay. Do you have a sample of something you're working on?" He asked. "I _might_ be able to come up with something if I hear it."

Annie blinked, surprised, like the thought hadn't occurred to her. "I do, actually."

She unlatched her case, situating her father's Fender Affinity on her crossed legs. Looked the same as it had when they were kids. His heart pressed. Even the Marvin the Martin sticker was still there.

She adjusted the turners, cleaned off her guitar pic on her leggings. "It's not gonna sound right—just a warning," Annie flexed her fingers on the fret, played the E, turned another turner. "It's meant for the lead guitar."

Eren twisted his body, the chain attached to his wallet rattling. He set his book on his thigh, a blank page open. He needed a new one soon. There was only a couple of pages left. Eren knew it wouldn't hold out until Christmas. "As long as I get the basic idea," He pulled out his phone. "Can I record it?"

Annie shrugged. Eren set his phone on top of her Calculus book and listened.

He didn't feel it at first.

It was scratchy. Allegro. Eren had to spend most of those few seconds deciphering some of it.

The second time Annie played her sample… It resonated. Touched something. Tugged a string inside of him that had been stuff for what felt like an eternity. It vibrated, trembled. It still didn't sound right, like Annie had warned him, but Eren started piecing together the melody as if it were complete.

He chewed on the tip of his pen, musing. _Heavy, explosive guitar. A guttural chorus_. The way he and Floch always wanted their music to be, but the boys told him no.

Eren wrote the line from math class, skipped a few spaced. Started working.

When Annie finished, he told her to play it again. She did after a second, her curiosity and the tune burning through him, setting his mind alight with possibilities. He kept writing. Crossing out sentences, rewriting them. Nothing he'd tried threading together over the summer knit the strings in his mind as fast as right now. And with the cheerleaders still screaming behind them…

Eren thrust his notebook in Annie's face, halting her replay.

She pulled away with a scowl, glaring at him over the top. "How do you say 'child' in Spanish? Nino?"

Eren rolled his eyes, but it wouldn't sway his self-satisfaction. "Niño," He corrected. "And I know I am—now shut up and play it again."

Annie raised a brow at his command. She reluctantly complied a beat later, scooting closer. Eren dragged the notebook back, a comfortable space that shouldn't bother her farsightedness.

Her pitch was choppy, but they couldn't expect perfection yet. "… _And I really wish that you could help, but my head is like a carousel—and I'm going around in circles, going around in circles_ …"

Annie was so hard to read sometimes, her resting bitch face so perfect that even bled into casual conversation, even when she was happy. Eren thought she didn't like it, and panic started trickling in. He should've figured Annie would be hard to impress.

But it smoothed away when she peered at him under her short, mascara-clad lashes, a slight twinkle in her eyes. Just as mystified as he felt—only a more controlled version.

She adjusted the accents on the spot, fixed the cords.

A few students were openly staring at them. Eren wished they had the privacy of Annie's room at the music shop. The new owner was friendly enough to let her practice there for free. _Even a basement would be better_ , he grumbled. Nobody should be listening to an incomplete piece. But with another few days living in his room in the afternoons, Eren didn't have the luxury of options. They needed to seize whatever time they had. Annie didn't seem to notice—or care—for the attention.

This was always his favorite part—creating. Eren didn't realize how much he'd missed it until Annie rested her Fender Affinity on her thighs and snatched his notebook. She scribbled a few of her own thoughts. His creative streak was a beast curled and hidden away in a dark cave, slumbering quietly for days, weeks, months at a time. Until the season was over. It opened its bleary eyes and poured out a roar. Now that Annie was here, it would be better than ever before.

 _Armin was right,_ Eren thought dimly when Annie handed his notebook back, and he scanned over her additions. They were good. She didn't shut out anything he'd written. _Two heads are better than one_. But those two heads needed to be synchronized, with the same goals in mind and spirit. A quality Red Riot! always lacked. No initiative.

Annie started packing her guitar away. "Did you really get inspired by my girlfriend?"

Eren shrugged through he couldn't see, picking up his phone and turning off the recording. He was shocked to see it lasted more than ten minutes. Lunch was almost over. The song wasn't complete—far from it—but he was happy that it was going _somewhere_.

"Inspiration comes from the weirdest places."

"Don't I know it," Annie huffed, pushing some of her hair away from her face. "Can't wait to show Pieck."

"You think she'll like it?"

"Of course," Annie said, looking at him strangely. "Your lyrics are… solid, Eren."

"… I'm kind of scared of all the compliments today."

Her face flattened, her smooth cheeks flushing a light pink again. "You better not get used to it."

He smirked and pointed at his notebook with his chin. "You think we should keep that opening for the song?"

Annie stared down at the page, pensive. She fingered the corner of the book. "I like it, but… you _sure_ you wanna use Hitch's chant?"

He lifted a shoulder. "Why not? She doesn't own that part of it." Eren was a little surprised Hitch hadn't stopped by. Then again, she wasn't the clingy girlfriend. "You know how many cheerleaders use that phrase?"

"Yeah, I know," Annie retorted, taking her hand back, lacing her fingers together. "What I meant was: you _are_ aware that my girlfriend has a monumental ego, right?"

Eren smirked, leaning on his arm. "What, bigger than ours combined?"

"Way bigger. And then some." She fiddled with her side-swept bangs. "It's already bad enough she thinks I'm writing a song about her—imagine her finding out we've written a song that she unknowingly helped create. She'd never shut the fuck up."

He cocked his head to the side. "I thought you were writing a song about her, though?"

She sliced him a glare. "That's beside the point, Eren." Annie sighed at the sky. "She's gonna find out and never let it go."

"So," Eren said, picturing it so vividly and in full color—Hitch reminding Annie in nearly every conversation for the rest of their lives. "Tell her thanks for me."

Annie groaned, dropping her face into her hands. "I can't believe this is happening to me." She shook her head. "How has my life come to this?" She mumbled to no one.

"Ah, stop feeling sorry for yourself," He poked her arm— _pokepokepokepoke_. "C'mon. You know you wanna do this!"

She swat his hand away like it was an annoying fly. Eren grinned. If he was a child, so was she. "Yeah, yeah," Annie brooded. "We're doing it. Quit it already—I said _yes!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from Bring Me the Horizon’s “Happy Song”.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Historia!"

Historia jumped out of her skin, her heart plummeting to Earth's core. She shouldn't have whipped around, knowing whose body that voice belonged to. Her body betrayed her, wired and ready for a fight, her fist clenched at her side.

Reiner Braun shot out of his seat the second the game called for time. Marcel Galliard, safety for the football team, finally ripped his attention away from his phone, long enough to cast a scowl up at Reiner, like, _Really, dude? Could you be any more_ obvious?

Reiner ignored his best friend, a shit-eating grin lighting up his entire face now that Historia had accidentally given him her full attention. "You got a minute?"

_Oh, no._

Coach Brzenska stopped mid-sentence, cutting her eyes away from Historia. She was displeased, unable to hide her sneer at the hulking mass barging his way through the crowd descending the bleachers. Coach Brzenska rarely spoke a word of praise to any of the girls, and, _of course,_ the one fucking time she'd taken a moment to send good graces Historia's away, _someone_ had to come and interrupt. And it shockingly wasn't Ruth Kline.

Historia was _pissed._

Coach Brzenska adjusted her circled glasses to the bridge of her nose, turning back to Historia. "Seems like your boyfriend's calling," She spat the word. "I'll be off now. Get some rest over the weekend—and _don't_ do anything stupid." Coach turned on her heel with fluid grace. "We're working on a new pyramid set next week. Competitions are coming once football season is over. We can't waste a second. Don't forget the money for your new uniforms."

 _No, no, no!_ She didn't want her to go like this. Not when she'd just spend the last couple of minutes complimenting her improvement on her aerials and executions.

"Wait, Coach!" Historia called over the buzzing, pitching after her. Coach Brzenska's feet whisked her toward the locker rooms, where her equally small office resided, probably to pack up for the night. She was only a few inches taller than her but faster. "We're not—"

"Wait a minute, Historia!" Reiner shouted somewhere behind her. "I need to ask you something! Wait for me!"

_Fuck._

Historia didn't think twice and made a hasty beeline toward a large group of people trickling towards the closest exit. It was on the way to the locker room, so she hoped they'd help her vanish.

She just wanted to _leave_. Get out of these tight briefs. Rub some baby powder on her thighs. Hope Frieda showed up on time, and the two of them would grab dinner like she'd promised. She didn't expect the night would end with this exhausting tool of a guy who couldn't take a hint or a hike trying to ask her out. It was a mistake locking eyes with Reiner for even a nanosecond in the middle of their routine. Historia didn't think something that innocent would give him the wrong idea. It was her job to sweep the crowd. She could feel Ruth's radiating jealousy from her position in the back of the formation when Reiner waved at her.

A pair of friends in the crowd were talking about a party on the west side of town, by the wealthy neighborhood with the private schoolboys. Historia didn't care about that, but she recalled some of the girls talking about it in the locker rooms.

"Oh, God." Hitch Dreyse swore, sidling up to Historia's side after congratulating Bertolt on an incredible comeback in the final two-quarters of the game. The team dunked the entire gallon of orange Gatorade on him. It wasn't even basketball season or close to the finals, but they were still elated.

"Tell me about it," Historia muttered.

" _HISTORIA_!" Reiner bellowed, echoing throughout the room, shooting right through the crowd. Historia ducked before she could meet the eyes of the people around her, cheeks flaring and body fuming.

" _Holy shit_!" Hitch whispered and ducked, as if Reiner spotting her would give Historia's position away. Seeing as how often they hung out since the first day of school, maybe. "Could he _be_ any louder? How embarrassing!"

"Just ignore him," Historia said more to herself than to Hitch. She kept her head straight, tunnel vision gaze on the narrow opening of the girl's locker room wedged into the gymnasium wall.

"It was cute at first," Hitch admitted. Historia lifted her head, shooting her a glare. "Oh, c'mon, Historia! Those notes are so cute—even if they're obnoxiously cheesy! I wish Annie would do something like that for me!" Hitch grinned down at her, not a hint of envy or jealousy.

"You can have them—believe me."

Her captain spared a glance over her curved shoulder, her bunny-button face betraying a scowl. "Now it's just plain creepy. You don't even talk to him! Gotta wonder how many 80's teen movies he's watched."

She bumped Hitch's arm. "The entire collection."

It was wrong to hope the bleachers collapsed under his titanic weight. That his ankle would lodge in the wood of the court. But Historia still wanted it. At the slow rate they were walking, Reiner would find them in the crush and steal her away in no time. She couldn't imagine anything more mortifying than rejecting him in front of a surplus of students _and_ parents.

Hitch must've sensed her distress. She towed Historia, peeling them away from the bodies; her strides long, leggy, and perfect for a fast getaway. She struggled to keep up, ignoring the burn in her legs.

"I should've never taken your megaphone and attacked the crowd like that," It was the first football game of the season, on that first Friday of the school year. The turnout had been tremendous. She never knew Reiner Braun was _that_ big of a deal, and it hadn't taken much to get the crowd riles in his favor. "He hasn't left me alone since then."

"Well. I _did_ tell you not to do it."

"Yeah, but…" Historia bit her lip, her apprehension morphing into annoyance at the glimpse of black hair racing across her vision from the other end of the court. But it didn't belong to the culprit—just someone from the opposing team. She wished it did. Because this was all Eren's fucking fault.

Hitch didn't ask her to continue, her low protest already a dissolution in the crowd. The two of them filed into the opening in the wall, arriving at the safe nest—the air-conditioned locker room.

Historia breathed in relief, the solitude setting placating her. They were the first two here. _Good_. She couldn't handle Ruth's leery eyes of snide comments tonight either. That would be the icing on top of an already obnoxiously overfilled cake. A check of Coach Brzenska's office revealed her papers stacked neat and her book bag gone.

Grabbing a spare towel from her duffle, Historia hopped into an empty shower stall, washing all the guck out of her hair, scrubbing her makeup off. She was the one that came up with a uniform makeup scheme all the girls adorned tonight—cat eyes, red lips, white eyeshadow.

Wrapping a towel around her, Historia hurried down the narrow lane, the room perforated in Victoria Secret body sprays and heat from curlers and flat irons. Mentions of weekend plans. School projects. That same party those kids had been talking about.

"Hey," Hitch said when Historia returned to their empty aisle and plopped on the cold metal bench, slipping on her underwear, bra, and took Hitch's offer on the baby powder. "You need a ride home? Annie's been super psyched about practice these days even though she has to teach Eren how to sing. So, I think I'm gonna surprise her since it's on the way to your place."

Historia chewed on her lip, carefully massaging the powder over the chafed area. "Don't worry about it. Frieda's picking me up."

Hitch grinned, loosening her bra strap, and heaved a plain pink V-neck over. Historia didn't mean to glance up, but she had a nice rack. _Annie definitely enjoys laying on_ that, she thought while gathering her hair to one side and squeezing the excess water out. "Glad to hear she got off on time."

Historia wasn't so sure about that, but she tried to remain positive. She never imagined living with Frieda would be a lot like living with Rod. Frieda used to fight tooth, nail, and claws with their father when she was in high school, saying how she'd never end up like him. He always worked, a phantom in their house, and rarely attended any of their school recitals. But making a name for herself in the field of law meant sacrifice. The same sacrifices musicians make. Long hours, sleepless nights, mood swings whenever they _were_ home.

Her older sister's apartment was a smaller, quaint space. If Rod ever left the city studio and flew across the country, Historia could imagine his face pluming into that ugly purple at the sight of Frieda's place. Only big enough for two people, three with the fold-out couch. And, Historia couldn't lie, she'd _almost_ phoned the taxi to take her back to the airport when she saw it. Historia loved baking for crowds. And now…

No, she'd never look back. She was tired of living in her father's seclusion, tired of his demands, and his plans for her without her consent. And it wasn't that Frieda didn't try. Just not enough sometimes.

And, really, it was less lonely with Maleficent, the demon cat, around. She never let Historia forget she existed. Rod never let them have pets. She wasn't entirely shocked that Frieda hadn't been kicked out yet with the number of complaints she got over that cat. The landlord knew the Reiss name. It was better to stay on Frieda Reiss' good graces than to have her say, phone a call to Rod Reiss, CFO of R. R. Enterprises, a former acclaimed music label, and have them replaced.

Not that Frieda would ever do something like that. She never liked to use their father's name for leverage. But the knowledge made their landlord, Mr. Xavier, shit his pants every time Maleficent mauled another kid for looking at her the wrong way. Frieda could deny it all she wanted, but small-town people weren't stupid—not with the readily accessible internet and social media on the rise. _She would've had better luck staying in the city if she didn't want people to know who she was,_ Historia thought dimly. More people, less likely to care.

She gingerly slipped her black fleece leggings on, legs still aching. Historia was glad that her home routines were working despite Coach Brzenska's warnings not to. She was far behind the other girls who'd had years of experience cheerleading. And she needed to check out more books, already drying up Frieda's small library in the living room's bookshelf.

Historia threw her long-sleeved shirt on and dug around for her Razr on the floor of her duffle bag. No texts from Frieda. That was a good sign, she hoped. Still nothing from her father—even better. And nothing from Ymir. That one annoyed her.

Historia rolled her eyes and clapped her phone shut. She slipped it in the side pocket of her duffle. "She wants to take me out to dinner. But I'm not feeling it. I just wanna grab a pizza and go home. Pepperoni, extra cheese." Speaking it out loud made her stomach gurgle in agreement.

"Ugh, pizza sounds _so_ great right now." Hitch shimmied into her pink tights and slipped her black shorts over. She shut her locker, clicking the lock in. "I'll probably stop by Reeve's and pick up a box for Annie." She squinted down at her candy red Palm Centro. "They're probably done with practice and starving," Hitch sighed dramatically. "It's like taking care of children. Pieck can really put it away, especially when she, you know—" She made a smoking motion with her fingers. "—so, maybe two boxes would be a better idea…"

Historia raised a brow, pausing in the middle of double knotting her booties. "You're serious about that? I thought you were going to the party?"

"It's gonna be _so_ boring. And I don't care for those private school assholes." Hitch took a seat next to her, taking her sweet time tying the laces of her white high-tips. Her phone vibrated, but Hitch didn't make a move for it. "Why not spend Friday night with my future rock-star girlfriend?"

She squinted at Hitch's side profile, recalling the flashes of aggravation that marred her face whenever a student came up to her and asked about Annie's band; when they were performing at the club again, if they were any closer to cutting a deal. "Because you don't like her band."

Done with double-knotting her shoes, Hitch stuffed her cheer uniform in her bag. She picked her phone back up to respond, punching away at the letters while Historia looked on. "It's not that I _don't_ like her band. I love them—Hannah, Pieck. Eren." Dropping the device between her thighs, she adjusted the white bow-tie barrettes she'd worn during the game. All the girls had something in their hair: stars, outlined hearts. Ruth wore pearl earrings. For Historia, it had been a plain white ribbon around her ponytail.

"I love that Annie knows what she wants. I love that she's being recognized. That girl is so unbelievably talented," Her captain twisted her lips in discomfort, a few strands of her curly, tortilla colored hair pulling off with one of the clips. She stuffed it into her makeup bag. "I just wish it didn't take up so much of her time, you know? We haven't been anywhere in so long—just her and I."

Historia touched the elephant keychain Ymir had gifted to her on their second date, itching to recheck her phone though she knew nothing waited for her but an empty inbox. "I get that."

Hitch faced Historia abruptly, tucking one leg under the other. "Is it wrong that I was kinda glad when she told me Hannah quit the band?"

Historia couldn't wipe the wince that crossed her face fast enough. Hitch needed an honest answer, and that was part of it. "It's... a little selfish, don't you think?"

Hitch rolled her eyes and swat her arm. "Whatever—everyone's a little selfish, even the nice ones, like you." She held up her cheetah patterned makeup bag. "Can you do my makeup again? Nothing extravagant this time."

Historia scoffed but obliged, her burning with a need to do _something_ instead of clutching her phone. Ymir wasn't going to text her. And there was no way she'd text her.

She set the products she needed—the right brushes, primer, foundation, mascara, sponges—and laid them on her thighs. Historia applied the primer first, let Hitch massage it on with her clean hands before she began dotting the liquid beige foundation on her captain's cheeks, forehead, and chin. Hitch had flawless, smooth skin, like a marble sculpture. She really didn't need makeup at all. Maybe a little bit of mascara and eyeliner for an accent, but that's all.

"Sometimes I just feel like she cares more about the band than me," Hitch continued. At the same time, Historia got a little unfocused, straining to pay attention to both things simultaneously. She always liked working with makeup, as much as baking. She wished Frieda would let her do her makeup like back when they were kids, when Historia was still learning the gimmicks. "I know it's her baby and all, and I know they were well put together before we ever got together, and I _know_ she doesn't mean to be this way…" Hitch paused, bit her lip. Shrugged helplessly. "But I still can't help it—feeling like this."

Hitch hadn't spoken about this to anyone—not even the girls on their team. She kept her tone hushed despite the vortex of loud weekend plans being mad around them. The more Historia dwelled on it, the more she realized Hitch, despite being the head cheerleader and, by default, the most popular girl in school, didn't seem like she had friends she could count on.

She tilted Hitch's small chin up with a finger, dabbing the sponge on her neck, blending in the color. "You ever think she feels the same way about your cheerleading? With all the competitions we go to and our rehearsal schedules? You know Coach is gonna run you dry since it's your last year. She really wants you to get that grant money."

"I don't doubt it," Hitch admitted softly, tucking her head in when Historia finished. She waited patiently while Historia peppered the bronzer in the appropriate spots. A sadness pooled in her sweet-honey eyes. "Maybe we're growing apart."

"That happens." Some of the girls rushed past, wearing heels and flowy skirts and giggling about the party. Historia continued her work until she heard the familiar sound of the double doors leading to A-Wing slam shut before she asked, "Have you talked to Annie about this?"

Hitch sighed with her shoulders, somehow keeping her face straight. "What's the point when I already know how that's gonna go? Annie's… stubborn—in the best and worst way possible."

"So… What, you're gonna let it simmer?" Historia probed, placing the sponge coated in bronze off to the side, and popped open the tube of black mascara. "Wait until you explode? Look up."

This time, Hitch's mouth twitched, but she obeyed, staring at the ceiling. "I know. It's a horrible idea."

"The worst."

Historia layered the first coat on both eyes before Hitch let out another heavy sigh. "And I… I guess I still feel kinda bad she doesn't really have anyone besides me, you know? Well, and Eren. And Pieck. But they're kind of a given."

"I know what you mean." She held up the eyeliner pencil, but Hitch declined. Historia moved onto blush, picking the most subtle shade out of the three Hitch had. "But she made that decision to drop them—you didn't tell her to. Give her some credit! She's obviously serious about you."

A soft smile spread across her mouth. "I'm glad we're friends, Historia. You're really easy to talk to."

She swallowed down the lump in her throat. It was only a matter of time before Hitch figured out who exactly Historia Reiss was, who she was related to, and used it to her advantage—however that went. Same with Eren, _especially_ Eren.

Still, for what it was worth, she was also glad. "Yeah, me too."

Historia examined Hitch's face one last time, checking for misses, and when she found none, started to put Hitch's products back. She debated doing her own makeup but thought better of it. She was going straight home from here. "I still think you should talk to her. There's no harm in it."

Hitch poked her shoulder, grinning slyly. "Just as soon as you talk to Reiner."

Her face fell. "What for?"

Hitch pantomimed an explosion next to her head. "Guys like him need to be told things. They're super dense."

 _No shit_. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling and slammed shut at the assault of fluorescent lights, and the annoyance only Reiner could cause. "I shouldn't _have_ to."

"Oh, yeah. I know," Hitch pat her knee reassuringly and assembled her things. She grabbed the keys to her Volkswagen, slinging the strap of her own duffle on her shoulder. "But Reiner's one of the harmless ones. I promise that."

 _I doubt it,_ Historia thought, chewing her lip, but didn't voice it out loud. A freakishly large dude like that? No way. But she willed herself to breathe evenly and slung her duffle across her chest, following Hitch out of the vacant locker room.

Out of A-Wing, they breezed down the corridor, out into the senior parking lot. She instantly regretted not blow-drying her hair. The cold dug straight into her skull, raking throughout her body, prickling goosebumps. Historia shuddered, holding her arms close. It _never_ got this cold in Sheena. Frieda should've warned her!

A quick scan of the brightly lit and almost empty parking lot confirmed her suspicions. Frieda wasn't here yet. Historia checked her phone. Nine-thirty-nine. Frieda should've been here by nine-thirty, her lawyer of a sister always punctual. No texts.

Historia chewed her lip. Hitch popped the driver's door of her orange Beetle, throwing her bag into the back seat instead of the empty passenger seat. She flashed Historia an imploring look. "You're sure you don't want a ride? Or to come with me to the practice? I don't think Annie would mind."

She should take it. Eren would be there, too, so it's not like she'd be completely alone. But she'd seen enough of that scene. And Frieda promised. A part of her—the microscopic part of her eating away at her logic—held onto hope that her big sister would pull through.

Historia shook her head. "Positive."

Her captain made a face.

When she didn't budge, didn't move a muscle, Hitch resigned with a sigh, ducking down into her driver's seat and starting the car. She switched the lights on. Pressing a button for her passenger window, Hitch tossed something soft at Historia. She barely caught it without almost dropping her phone.

"It's Annie's—I want it back on Monday!"

She didn't get a chance to say _thank you_ before Hitch sped out of the lot. She was a crazy driver.

Historia quickly stuffed herself in Annie's Led Zeppelin hoodie and fixed her ice-cold hair into a low ponytail. They were the same size—Annie just liked her sweaters snug instead of form-fitting. She'd seen pictures of Hitch's infamous girlfriend but hadn't gotten the chance to meet her in person. She guessed she could see why Hitch was into her.

Some students lingered in groups by their new sedans and busted hatchbacks, passing a blunt. Her nose crinkled. She couldn't get a hook on their conversation, too far away, but not far enough for the musky odor not to bother her. It was the laced stuff. Historia drifted a safe distance away, towards one of the picnic tables under the awning overlooking the football field. Shingeki High was impressive for a small-town school—a football field, a track field, and a soccer field sprawled across campus. She wished she could go back inside the warm school, but the doors were locked from the inside.

Historia flipped open her phone. Nine-forty-three. Frieda didn't pick up when she called. She groaned in frustration, almost throwing her head back, fingers furiously composing a text. _Oh, she's gonna hear it from me!_

"Historia."

Chills spiraled down her spine at that smooth voice in all the wrong ways. She clapped her phone shut in surprise, the text unsent.

Oh. Fuck.

The concrete slab of a guy slid into the seating across from her, _directly_ in front of her. Reiner Braun's blue eyes gleamed under the glow of the harsh lights above them, his face breaking into a beam. "What're you still doing here? I thought you left."

"Waiting for my sister." She decided to go with the truth and quickly added before Reiner got any ideas, "She should be here soon." _I hope._ "I thought you were gone too." _I hoped._

"Oh, I was waiting for some of my friends to meet me here. We're going to a part across town. I wouldn't mind giving you a ride home…" Reiner trailed off, twirling the keys to his Chevy truck around his thick index ginger, trying to look cool. _Does he think having a car'll impress me?_ Historia tried to keep her face neutral, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "But I guess you got that covered…"

"Perfectly."

They slipped into a torturous silence, Reiner's foot tapping against the concrete the only sound between them.

Historia grit her teeth, trying not to shudder. She really wanted to go inside. She checked her bare nails, willing Frieda to show up _right this second. Please!_ She screamed.

 _Oh, man. When we get home,_ she glowered. When they get home, Historia would do their nails. She won't take no for an answer. And she'd take her sweet time pushing Frieda's cuticles back. Make sure she felt the pain, relish in her older sister trying to writhe away. Frieda probably hadn't been to a manicurist in so long, and it would be _perfect._

When Historia bored of checking her nails, she tucked her chin on her palm, gazing at the football field beyond Reiner's shoulder. He wasn't paying attention, thank God, head and shoulder ducked. The floodlights were on, washing over the wet green grass. There was another football game next Thursday.

Panic rolled into her in slow waves. _What'm I gonna do?_

She couldn't handle another note secretly stashed in her bag. Or in between the pages of her books. Reiner hiding them in her books always freaked her out the most, felt the most personal. And Historia couldn't put up with another second of Ruth's huffy and puffy attitude at the lunch table when Hitch laughed over another note. _The guy's never gonna give you the time of day_ , Historia wanted to say, _I wish he would, though. Better you than me,_ but Historia bit her tongue, knowing that probably came off across as taking pity on Ruth. She definitely wouldn't be the one to start another cheer for him—even if he _did_ deserve it. His quarterback feats _were_ impressive.

"I, um," Reiner's voice ripped her out of her future dilemma, into the current predicament. "I called for you in the gym."

"Didn't hear."

"Oh." Reiner blinked, knowing she was lying but decided to be the bigger person. _Obviously._ Short people, short temper. "Well, that's okay. It was pretty loud in there. Bertolt did great. I'm proud of him."

"He did."

The dude really did come through the last two quarters with his alley-oops and blank shots.

Reiner nodded, blowing a deep, controlled breath. "So, listen," He began nervously. Historia braced herself for the inevitable, inwardly cringing. She knew it was only a matter of time. She still wished Frieda would show up _now_ , so she could deal with this maybe on Monday. Or never. "I, um. I've been wanting… No, um, I've been thinking..."

"Reiner—"

He wagged a nervous finger. "No, no. Lemme finish. Please? I gotta get this out right."

Historia chomped on her lip, folding her arms over the table, gripping her elbows. Her body racked with tremors, from the impending onslaught, from the unforgiving cold.

Reiner tipped his head back. The ugly orange lights cast shadows on his clean-shaven face. His Adam's apple. "I'm the one that's been leaving notes in your bag."

"I know." She deadpanned.

Reiner looked surprised, blinking. "Y—You do?"

"Yeah," Her eyes darted to the parking lot, again, feebly searching for Frieda's gas-guzzling Maxima. Or an escape route. The kids smoking were still there—two of them sneaking glances at them, grinning. If she explained the situation, would they believe her? "I've seen your handwriting before. When we have to switch papers in class for corrections."

He flushed, and Historia sort of saw why the girls on her squad went crazy for this guy. _He's not bad looking,_ she admitted. "Oh. Uh. Shit. That's right. I forgot." If it was possible, Reiner's leg bounced faster. "Well. Um. Well… I just wanted to know if… you'd be interested in going out sometime… with me?"

She sighed slowly. "No."

"Oh..." The disappointment and embarrassment settled in slow, staining his Herculean features in bright red, his thick sandy brows furrowing in confusion.

According to the girls on the squad, Reiner Braun was the school bachelor. The Galliard brothers, Marcel and Porco, the latter also on the football team, receiver, tied for second and third. _He's terrible looking at all. Just has a head full of lead for a brain,_ she groused.

"Um." He swallowed thickly, unable to meet her eyes. "... Can I ask why?" Reiner questioned softly.

She fought the urge to shoot up from the table and launch herself… somewhere. It screamed at every nerve in her body. But Historia didn't know this town, not the way she knew the big city. She only knew the Korean spot right by the apartment complex that stopped delivering after eight. And Reeve's Pizzeria, which didn't deliver to her section. And there was a lack of a vehicle. She did have a driver's license—and a fake ID, courtesy of Frieda years ago, behind dad's back—so maybe she should ask Frieda… _No,_ she shook that thought away. _I can't do that._ Asking her _sister_ for a car was too much, even if Frieda made well above a decent living. She should've asked for one while she still lived with Rod. He would've never denied her one.

She recalled Hitch's words. _God, I hope she's right,_ Historia prayed, steeling herself with a jaw clenched tight and a shaky inhale. "I'm just not interested in you, Reiner."

Reiner opened his mouth, immediately closed it. He wasn't expecting that. He ran a finger under his bottom lip, where a five o'clock shadow sprinkled his chin. She could feel his heart trembling from here. Maybe breaking.

"Marcel was right," He muttered, more to himself than her. He wasn't even looking at her. "There's someone else."

Historia's brows snapped together. "Huh?"

"You," Reiner clarified, eyes flashing to her. "You're seeing someone else."

She could say yes. Ymir wouldn't oppose the idea, and neither did Historia. They were still talking… _were._ She gripped her elbows tighter, recalling the little fact that her ex-girlfriend hadn't answered her last text, sent a week ago. And, honestly? Historia was starting to hope she wouldn't. Hoped that Ymir would get so engrossed in senior year and her drama club and college applications and just forget about getting back together. Because Historia didn't have the strength to quit her—Ymir needed to do it. The more silence, and long restless nights, and draining days stretched between them, the more her fingers itched to pick up her cell and call Ymir herself to end this infuriating quietude.

But Historia wouldn't. Too much pride.

Historia shook that off, checking her tone. "I'm just not interested in you, Reiner," She repeated like a broken record. "There's—"

"Eren."

Now it was Historia's turn to clamp her mouth. She blinked at him, a boulder-sized crease forming on her forehead. "… What?"

"You're seeing him." When she didn't answer, her brain a record player with the needle record scratching to _what the fuck is going on in that empty head of his_ , Reiner shrugged. "Everyone sees you two together. People are talking."

She racked her brain, searching for anything between them that could've been taken out of context. She kept her hands to herself, for the most part. Sometimes, she did slip up and touch his hair, but Historia made damn sure never to linger. Eren's hair was incredibly soft—how could she not play with it? They did pass each other a lot during school, classrooms—practically neighbors. He waited for her by the bus, too. Even those afternoons Eren knew she'd take the bus home. And when she did, he'd walk her home. She'd been a little skeptical about it at first. Now she kind of enjoyed it. Only that one guy at their stop saw that, and something told Historia the kid had way better things to do than nosey himself into whatever they were up to. Which they weren't up to anything. Eren still hadn't

She wouldn't lie; she _did_ find him attractive—tall, slenderly built. He tried so hard to hide it under oversized sweaters. Black hair he was growing out. But it was his eyes that caught her attention—his ancient, grey eyes that always looked so sad.

Historia pushed those thoughts away before they actually went somewhere she wasn't ready for yet. And because curiosity burned her, she blurted, "Did Eren… tell you we were going out?" He didn't seem like that type of guy—she didn't _want_ him to turn out to be _that_ type of guy. Eren seemed too… sensitive.

"I haven't talked to the guy in ages," Reiner admitted and seemed to realize his own revelation at this moment, his flossing over in confusion, thick brows furrowed deeply. "I'm... not really sure why. Guess we kinda fell off the map. We used to be good friends in middle school. But when I got into football, it took up a lot of my time. And he got into writing, and eventually music." He rambled before he gave another jerky shrug, returning to his initial point. "And, it's just what people are saying about you two." He repeated. As if that made it law.

 _So Eren was being honest._ Historia chewed her lip. And possibly gravely serious about this music thing. She never asked him what his plans were after high school. She could guess, though. If she'd learned anything from her father, it was the ropes of the business. "Maybe you shouldn't believe what other people say."

"That's true." He agreed softly, amiably, but his brows were still knit tightly.

Another enraging silence billowed them. _Where the fuck is Frieda?!_ She was so cold, so annoyed, so tired.

Historia was about to pull out her phone when Reiner divulged his thoughts, peeking up at her through blond lashes, "So… Are you?" He straightened his spine just a tad. "Is that why you won't give me a chance?"

She wouldn't dignify that with an answer, her nostrils flaring, lips disappearing into a thin line. Her anger bubbled, veins hot, just about ready to burst. _Just when I thought he'd drop it and take it like a champ!_

Her phone rang, bristling the two of them, Rihanna's "S.O.S." blaring loud and clear. She didn't need to glance at the caller ID. " _Where have you_ been?" Historia seethed under her breath, turning away from Reiner.

"Coming around the corner," Frieda didn't sound offended, just exhausted. "I'm _so_ sorry I'm late. I meant to call you the client kept me past the scheduled time—"

"Whatever. Let's get a pizza and go home."

"But I thought we—"

Historia shut her phone, done, silencing Frieda. She checked the time quickly, enraged even further. Ten-oh-two. Fuck!

She shot to her feet, wishing she was sitting at a table so the chair could scrape against the concrete. Extra, but needed. She was _that_ annoyed. She regretted not taking Hitch's offer.

She turned her back to Reiner, marching off to the parking lot. Frieda's headlights slowly crawled up the street. _Not fast enough!_

"Wait, Historia—I'm sorry." Reiner scrambled, fumbled. Why couldn't he just go away?! Why did she keep listening to people instead of trusting her gut? "Lemme explain! It's just—"

Historia yanked her arm away, holding it protectively against her before Reiner could make a grab for it and tear it off her body. At his height and weight, the dude would have no issue throwing her tiny ass over his shoulder and taking off. " _Don't touch me_." She growled, glaring up at him.

Reiner reeled back, holding his palms up like the dude was an alien who only came in peace and hadn't been pestering her for _three weeks_ straight. "Sorry! This is, uh, this is coming out bad—isn't it? Like, _really_ bad."

"No shit." Historia deadpanned but didn't loosen her grip or stance.

Reiner ducked his head in shame, forked a hand through his tuft of blond hair, clenching his strong jaw. He let out a breath, loosening the tension in his shoulders. _So easy for him_. "I'm just… trying to understand. I'm not…" He searched with his mind. "... very good at this kind of stuff."

"What's there to _get,_ Reiner?" Historia wanted to scream but kept her tone just above a seething whisper. "Whaddaya want me to say—that the reason I'm rejecting you is because I might like Eren? I don't owe you jack shit just because you like me, Reiner."

Reiner didn't seem surprised by her admission. Historia winced, inward and outward. Fuck, she practically just confirmed part of his—and, apparently, what some people in school's—suspicions. Her mouth moved to deny it, but it wasn't _entirely_ a lie.

"Yeah, I should've figured," Reiner said quietly, hanging his head. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki's, slowly backing away. "Marcel was right."

Now's _when he finally backs off?_ Her anger chilled her more than the night.

"I, uh. I'm late for the party..." He glanced at her one last time. "I'll see you at the game next week."

It wasn't a question. And, if she cared enough to strain, it sounded determined. She grit her teeth. Why couldn't this guy give the fuck up?

The iron grip on her wrist didn't loosen until she swooped down into the passenger seat of Frieda's car. It was warm, but Historia didn't feel it.

Her older sister, sensing something was wrong when Historia kept quiet, reached out, running her fingers through her ponytail. "I really am sorry I'm late—"

"I'm over it." And she meant it. She was over it. Over tonight. Over today. Over the rest of the school year—oh, no.

Historia covered her mouth. Shit. _Why_ did she _say_ that to _Reiner_? Hitch would've been a different story. She was good at keeping things to herself. But Reiner was _the_ most popular guy. And the biggest loudmouth. She knew he'd been talking about her to Marcel, judging by his comments and those sideways glares at him. This wasn't her school; she didn't rule it. She barely knew anyone. Reiner must be blurting his humiliation right now to a ton of people. _It's gonna reach Eren,_ she thought with foreboding dread. Eren didn't want drama—and neither did she, frankly. Fuck. She hated high school so much.

Her blood pounded in her ears. "Can we just go home?"

Frieda's lips pursed; Historia could feel her sister's eggplant eyes studying her carefully. "What about pizza?"

She shook her head, pinning her hands to her knees, her nails digging through the fabric of her leggings.

Her sister's delicate fingers still combed through her cold hair, offering her some comfort. "Tell me what's wrong," Frieda coaxed gently, her voice soothing as a mother who wanted to fix everything. _But she can't fix this._

Historia blinked rapidly. "I… I think I messed up. Big time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Big man wants tiny gf 🥺” - Merm


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering where I stand: black lives matter.

Historia didn't show up to school.

 _Maybe she'll show up later,_ Eren had reasoned as he'd tipped his head, resting it on the bus seat. The ride had been long and tedious. Heavy rain poured down in thick sheets, the roads slick. Hannes drove slower, much more careful than the norm, with lots of stops and go's and impatient honking. They'd been late to school, and for a girl like Mina Carolina, another perfect attendance student, she'd been fuming like a kettle. Eren didn't know why she didn't have her own car.

Since he'd had some data left on his parent's family plan, Eren checked his emails. Most of them were sales from places like PacSun, Hot Topic, and Sam Ash. He wasn't a genius like Armin or a model student like Mikasa. Still, he'd gotten a few universities interested and waiting for his application. The deadlines for early admissions were around the bend. Shingeki Community College, a given. Universities an hour or so away. His parents would love that, love for him to be close by. It didn't interest him.

Eren planned to make it. He'd make it big. He wasn't sure how yet, but he knew that his dream was one step closer to being achieved from practicing with Annie. He didn't understand the purpose of college. How was wasting four years on a degree that probably wouldn't get him anywhere supposed to help him? When he could invest his time and money in the band? If he tried explaining that to his parents, they'd never understand. His parents didn't even know where he was most afternoons. _They probably think I'm with Armin and Mikasa,_ Eren surmised.

He'd texted Annie right after. She was a heavy sleeper. Her optometrist appointment was for nine, so she wouldn't kill him. He'd thumbed through the rest of his contacts, barely anyone. With a jolt that was partially due to Hannes driving through another pothole, Eren had realized he didn't have Historia's number.

Lunch was about to end—still no sight of Historia.

She had office aid on odd days, so it's not like Eren would've seen much of her anyway. Not enough to talk to her—just enough to catch a glimpse of her golden hair swishing side to side, her undeterred steps. She didn't have practice on Monday's either. Being without Historia some afternoons was one thing. He dealt with it. He didn't particularly _like_ it, but Eren learned to deal. Being without her in the morning, though, didn't feel fair. He liked having someone to talk to, even if she rarely spoke about herself, mentally stacking up a brick wall between them. Eren wasn't sure why. He'd also noted how quiet she'd been, more than usual, the last two weeks. Every time he asked, she always deflected, blaming it on her AP classes. Eren knew it was only half true.

The other half, Eren assumed, must be about her ex. Historia had been clutching her phone more often, flipping it open randomly, a twitch of her lip when her screen displayed nothing. Like she was waiting for a call or a text, or any sign of life. Eren wanted to help, wanted to say something encouraging, but he didn't feel like it was his place. His situation was a little different. _Well. Not much of a 'situation.'_ He just wished he knew how to help her. But Eren didn't think he was in a position to be giving out solid relationship advice.

Alone, he prowled through the flanks, munching on the tasteless chicken wrap he bought from the lunch cart parked by D-Wing. He was so _bored._ And there was this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, spreading slowly, sourly fusing with the food that something was off-kilter. He passed by a pair of cheerleaders, and they _giggled_ at him. Like an idiot, he'd looked behind him, and they _guffawed,_ sending his face ablaze in embarrassment. Even Floch had eyed him suspiciously this morning.

But Eren couldn't figure out what it was.

A muffled cacophony of electric guitars, jazz saxophones, and a swivel of a violin thumped the door to the band room. Eren didn't mean to come here, but it's where his feet decided to lead him. He cracked the door open just a smidge. He peeked inside, face blasted with the frigid air and uncoordinated music…

Eren shut the door and pivoted.

Connie was in there, Sasha sharing the brownies they'd made in Home Ec. Eren _tried_ not to pay her loud ass table any mind. It was hard _not_ to laugh every time Keith Shadis kept circling back to Sasha's table like the vulture he was; those hard, sunken eyes and bold head blazing under the fluorescents. A lot of kids guessed he must've been in the military, back pin-straight even when he sat, hands laced at the small of his broad back whenever he stalked through the aisles. And those precise steps. There were a limited number of ingredients, and Mr. Shadis couldn't have any of his students wasting a single scrap of it.

Eren sipped water, his throat still scratchy despite a weekend of rest. He tossed the wrapper into the garbage bin by B-Wing. Singing was going _swell._ He hoped Annie would take it a little easier on him for today's practice, though Eren doubted it. He hoped he found time during class to polish the lyrics.

With Pieck's approval, all of them worked on their contributions. Ultimately, Annie and Pieck knew there wasn't enough time to complete the song before the competition. It annoyed Eren at first. Why did Annie demand so much out of him if she didn't plan to use his material right away? But Eren saw her reasoning. It was a test to see if he was committed. He couldn't fault her for that. And he trusted Annie that one day, they'd create the song.

The three of them agreed to go on ahead with a cover—Nirvana's "In Bloom."

Another pair of cheerleaders scurried past him, and Eren rolled his eyes when one of them snapped a sneer at the sight of him, a trail of expensive perfume left in their wake. He was _so_ confused. And annoyed. He was tired of the weird looks today. He just wanted to know what the fuck was going on. He wasn't one to believe in omens, but between Historia _and_ Annie not being here, Floch's eyes, and those cheerleaders knowing _something_ he didn't...

He couldn't wait to get out of this town. The day couldn't come sooner.

Before Eren had a chance to open the door of D-Wing, someone yanked on his hoodie, forcibly lurching him back. Fist brandished, Eren craned his neck. His breath caught in his throat, his fist dropping immediately.

Mikasa.

"What—" He started, but his hoarse voice filtered into the humming conversations around them.

Mikasa didn't look at him. Didn't say a word, not that he was surprised. Her eyes were fixed ahead of her, on backtracking them. She'd grown her hair so long, now sloshing over her shoulders, down her back. Eren remembered those few times she asked him if he had a preference for hair, back before Jean crashed into the picture. Eren didn't, and he vaguely wondered if she would've kept the style if he'd ever said something. Jean loved it long, but he preferred it up and out of her face.

Eren wasn't sure why he was letting her drag him. A couple of students paused their conversations to raise brows, and he flushed. She'd always been freakishly strong. It was no wonder her and Annie used to be best friends. She was still wearing their matching bangle around her delicate wrist.

Mikasa finally released him after what felt like forever. Eren immediately recognized the musty, wet smell. The flower garden.

It wasn't actually much of a garden. Just a few bushes and flowers Eren didn't know the name of. They were for caterpillars, for the science classes. Armin and Mikasa used to water these plants. Pretty sure Armin was the one who'd planted the dying rose bush, but Eren couldn't remember. He never liked being here. It was too small, and the flower smell too strong. But hardly anyone hung out here. When the two of them wanted a breather from the big group, it was their spot, work on last-minute homework and projects, Armin always on his computer, and Mikasa drawing on her sketchpad. And Eren always complaining.

Eren wasn't sure when they stopped coming. He just showed up one day, and Mikasa was there, cuddled with Jean. He never came back. And Armin stopped caring once he'd found out he had so much more in common with Marco.

Mikasa spun on her heel slowly, her expression quiet and undisturbed. Her question and tone were anything but composed. "Why haven't you come back to us?" She demanded.

Eren was stunned. After months of _nothing,_ and _that's_ the first thing she asks? He shouldn't be so surprised. Mikasa wasn't one for confrontations, much less those on her own. She was more comfortable tailing behind, choosing a side from the comfort of the sidelines. But she also couldn't let things go, let things die when they needed to. Not when it came to him, at least. He was half expecting Armin to pop up so the two of them could tag team. It wouldn't be the first time.

Eren schooled his face, albeit not fast enough. Mikasa's brow quirked just slightly, waiting impatiently. He fixed the neck of his hoodie. Annie said he needed to avoid clearing his throat as much as possible. _It irritates the vocal cords._

"Meaning?" Eren probed, hoping he didn't sound entirely off.

Mikasa's eyes fell closed, shaking her head in dismay. Funny. They used to be the same height a few years ago. She was a couple of inches shorter than him. Not as short as Annie or Pieck. Or Historia. Those three had to crane their necks to look at him. It was cute. But Mikasa was tall enough that her head could fit perfectly on the space between his neck and shoulder. He hated how much he wanted to hug her. After everything she did to him.

Mikasa looked at the floor when she asked, "Why're you avoiding us, Eren?" She peeked at him. "I don't understand what it is that we did so wrong."

Eren's face fell. He almost scowled. "Don't act like you haven't been avoiding me too, Mikasa," He emphasized with a pointed glare. "And you know exactly why I haven't spoken to you guys."

She heaved a sad sigh. Mikasa folded her arms over her chest, hands clinging onto her elbows, fashioned in mesh under a plain black shirt. "You still care about us, Eren," She tried. "I know you do. So, please, come back. Talk to us. We miss you."

"It's not a matter of if I do or not, Mikasa," Eren pressed his lips into a thin line, tilting his chin up. "Things change. I've changed. We've all changed."

"But they don't have to change, Eren," She insisted quietly, picking at her studded bracelet, never one to raise her voice. Especially at him. She'd always been so… motherly towards him, ever since they met as kids. Making sure he ate, even going as far as to force-feed him. Tucking his duck-tail shirts for him. Always keeping him out of trouble.

"This is pointless, Mikasa," He took a slow sip of water, the bottle near empty. The liquid did nothing to soothe his scratchy throat and didn't cool his rising temperature. He'd always hated the way she babied him. "It's too late to convince me. I shouldn't even be here." He looked down at her, potent. "Aren't you worried what Jean might think if he finds out we're alone again? You never told him, did you?"

She sputtered. "Y—You were my friend before I ever knew him. Jean knows that. He's not…" Mikasa stopped herself. Eren had no clue where she wanted to go with that and didn't want to ask. He wanted to be left in the dark.

Things would've been better if she'd just never come to his house that day.

Her sad gaze dropped to the damp floor again. She dropped her arms, Her bracelets rattled. "I… just want things to go back to the way they were, Eren," She looked up at him, beseeching. "Please, just come back. I can't take this silence. We should finish high school together. You, me, and Armin… The way it's supposed to be. College will tear us apart enough. Senior year shouldn't. We still have time to—"

He threw up his hands. "What's there to go back to, Mikasa?" He vaguely knew of their college plans. The two of them wanted to stay close to home, a concept he didn't understand. "Things haven't been the same for a long time. It's time to give up. All of us are over—there's no going back."

Mikasa put distance between them. He knew he'd poked a sore spot. She always liked things orderly and didn't take well to not getting her way. She wasn't a brat, just wanted to live in the past that no longer existed. But she couldn't have expected he'd succumb to her desires. No. Not again. He learned a hard lesson once and didn't intend to repeat that same mistake.

She grasped a wet, dying leaf between two fingers. "You're only saying that because it's true."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Is _what_ true?"

An emotion Eren couldn't quite place his finger on flickered through her charcoal eyes. "I heard some rumors going around. About you. And some girl."

Eren rolled his eyes, seconds away from stomping off. She was always such a jealous shit. He kind of liked it and hated it all at once. Eren crossed his arms instead, keeping still though his blood was almost at the boiling point, uncomfortable sweat dotting the back of his neck.

"Some of them are talking about you fighting Reiner later this afternoon," Mikasa continued to stare at him. "He likes her too. That's all I know about what's going on."

Eren opened his mouth. Stopped. He wasn't wholly surprised Reiner liked someone. Dude didn't know how to control himself when it came to either girls—or guys. He'd gotten slapped more times than Eren could remember. But why the fuck would _he_ fight Reiner Braun for? Over a _girl?_ Over a girl Eren didn't even know? He didn't have any problems with Reiner. And it's not like Eren would lose. He thought they were on amicable terms. He didn't have any classes besides World History freshman year, and now...

Eren wanted to tear his hair right out of his follicles, the strange pieces of today slotting into an even stranger puzzle. _That must be why people were looking at me._ Why was almost everyone at this school so fucking insufferable?

Eren rubbed his forehead. "What does this have to do with me giving up, Mikasa?"

"Because I don't think you'd be saying any of these things if you weren't being influenced by someone," She said, fingering her black cross necklace. "The Eren I know wouldn't give up on things that easily. He'd fight against it."

"You never knew the first fucking thing about me, Mikasa," He scoffed at the absurdity of it all. "You guys were the ones who made things too easy for me." Eren heaved a sigh. "But why do you even care, Mikasa?" His voice itched when it rose just the slightest towards the end. "I wouldn't need your help. I could handle Reiner on my own. What'm I to you, anyway?"

Mikasa took a moment, collecting her words. She'd never been one for blurting. Not like him. She always needed time. A lot of time.

Impatient, Eren turned on his heel. He was more than ready to leave her there the same way she'd left him blindsided in his room all those months ago, when Mikasa finally uttered, "I think…" She fumbled. "I'll always care about you, Eren… It's not… something I can just stop doing."

He halted. Looked over his shoulder, glaring. "... And I'm supposed to believe that? After the way you left me? That's a bunch of bullshit, Mikasa." Eren whirled around, holding up an accusing finger in the three feet of space between them. " _You're_ the one who avoided me, and you didn't bother speaking to me after—"

"Because it was a mistake, Eren," She interrupted, her words like sharpened steak knives right into his heart. "We both knew we shouldn't have done that… _I_ shouldn't have been so…" Mikasa looked away again, biting her lip, her eyes fluttering. "It was a mistake," She repeated, more for herself than for him. "I… I just wasn't sure how to…" Mikasa lost her sentence.

What the fuck. It wasn't a mistake to him.

Wrong timing, sure. Mistake? No. He wanted to be with her— _wanted_ to be with her for all these quiet years. He'd never be able to meet Mikasa's absurd standards of him, so he thought it was pointless to admit it. Especially when Jean came along. He lost his chance. Or thought he did.

Eren wasn't sure about these feelings anymore or where they were going. It was too confusing. _It doesn't matter, anyway._ Jean sunk his claws into her and wouldn't let go until she bled out. But his grip didn't seem strong enough if Mikasa kept running straight to him when there was a problem. He didn't want to know what problems they were having now. Didn't care.

"Then why should it matter if I'm seeing someone else?" Eren wasn't sure why he didn't deny anything she was saying. Maybe it was the worn look on her face he was enjoying too much. It gave him a sick sense of satisfaction that anything he did still affected her. "You said it was a mistake. I'm moving on. Why's that so wrong to you?"

"Because… I'm... I'm a little jealous." She lifted her head slowly, meeting his eyes. "You moved on so... fast, Eren. I don't know what to think of it."

"No. _No_ ," Eren shook his head, his face marring into irritation. He could never conceal his feelings for too long. "No fucking way, Mikasa. You don't get to do this shit to me. You have no right to be jealous. We were never anything—"

"I know. I shouldn't be saying any of this." She ducked her head, but Eren caught the shame washing through her makeup. "But you never came after me, Eren." Mikasa deserted him there, another uncomfortable amount of time stretching between them before she continued after a controlled breath. Her hands curled into fists. "I—I know it's so selfish of me, but I wanted you to fight for me. I loved you for all those years. If I were in your shoes, I would've done it for you."

He didn't know what to say. His mouth hung open. Mikasa was completely sincere, her black eyes earnest and glossy. Eren felt like a clown, donned in the bright satin jumpsuit, dancing on a tightrope of lunacy.

"But you didn't." Mikasa continued, her finger blooming purple from twisting her necklace's silver chain around it. "And when you didn't... I had my answer. I guess I always knew it, too… I just never wanted to admit it to myself."

Eren ground his teeth, on the verge of a headache. He almost fumbled, Spanish about to heave, but somehow, he kept his head straight. "So, sleeping with me was just some fucking test for your science hypothesis?"

Her brows snapped together. "No, Eren. You're wrong."

"Then what the fuck was that supposed to mean, Mikasa?" He was so confused, and angry, and every shitty feeling in between. " _Please,_ let me know _exactly_ how I'm wrong," Eren said dryly. "You never had a problem with that before."

Mikasa's eyes never left his face. "You were never going to love me the same way I loved you, Eren."

He shook his head. This conversation was over.

The stormy grey clouds ripped apart above him. Halfway across the courtyard to the student drop-off, Eren realized he was being followed. He didn't give a shit. Things just could not get any worse. A detention slip for skipping school was the least of his problems.

But, no. Because, _of course,_ it was Armin. The three of them were once a packaged deal.

"Eren—wait!"

Eren didn't stop walking. Didn't slow down. He did fail, though—clearing his throat, instantly regretting it. "Go away, Armin," It sounded so hoarse, like he'd been crying, instead of strong and steady. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

"Wait, wait, wait—I just wanna talk!"

 _That's all you ever wanna fucking do_ , Eren seethed, fists brandished tight in his hoodie pocket. _Just talk and talk and_ talk _like a brainless parrot._ "Would you just leave me _alone_?" He stressed over his shoulder.

Armin ignored him completely, a few paces away. He hopped to the side, avoiding a small puddle of rainwater. "Where're you going, Eren?"

" _Nowhere_ , Armin."

"If it's nowhere, then why are you in a hurry?"

Eren exhaled a harsh breath through his nostrils. He kept his eyes trained ahead, the street vacant of cars. He was so close. All he had to do was break into a sprint. "What do you _want_ , Armin? I don't have time for whatever this is right now."

Armin scampered to his side, a little out of breath. He quickly removed his glasses, wiping off the fog with the hem of his sweater vest. "Is it true?"

"Is _what_ true?"

"You're in Annie's band now?" Before Eren could say anything, Armin added, "Sasha saw you two working on music last week. I… didn't think you guys were still good friends. You haven't hung out with her since we were kids."

Eren clenched his jaw, indulging this one question. "Yeah," He said. "We're working on music for her competition. Are we done here? Can you leave me alone now?"

Armin tried putting a hand on Eren's arm to stall him, but he jerked away like he'd been touched by hot coal. His former best friend's mouth fell open, shocked by Eren's switch reaction. They'd always been affectionate. Always sharing hugs, arm touches, and old habits would die hard with Armin.

" _Don't_ touch me right now."

Armin looked like he'd been kicked, his hand falling to his side, his eyes on the floor. Eren stormed off, eager to leave this whole day behind.

"I didn't think you were so serious about this music stuff, Eren." Eren halted, raised his eyes to the sky. He wished the clouds would smash together. Form another thunderstorm. Armin would run back to the school, and Eren would continue on his merry way. He never minded the rain. "Is this really what you want to do with the rest of your life?"

He whirled on him. "What the fuck did you think I meant, Armin?" He hopped a step back, a frightened rabbit. "What other reason do I have for being in a band?"

Armin's eyes flicked down, ashamed. He looked off towards the freshman building. "Well. I… I always thought it was just a fun thing we did—a thing all of us did together because we didn't have anything else to do."

"It wasn't that way for me. Never was."

Armin chewed on his lip. "I had no idea. I'm sorry, Eren."

"You're apologizing to me _now_?" Eren threw his hands up. "Why? I told you all of this a long time. You just never listened and never believed in my ideas. In the band. And—what, you really expected me to stick around? Especially after you guys kicked out Floch? We were sitting on our asses for months without him."

"I should've listened to you better," Armin said sincerely, digging his chewed up nails, lacerated by teeth and anxiety, into the palm of his other hand. "I really should've. But I won't be sorry about getting rid of Floch. It was the right thing to do. He wasn't a good influence for any of us."

Eren kneaded his temples. "Armin. I don't _care_ about any of this. I said my peace. Are we done here?"

"I think so." He nodded slowly. "I just wanted to know for certain. And…" His honey eyes flicked up to him. Sweet looking but a sham. "Also… I wanted to tell you not to use our music with her. Okay?"

His eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. " _Excuse me?_ You're—" Eren was suddenly _acutely_ aware of how close Armin was. It wouldn't take much to throw his arm back, land a fist right in his jaw, make blood splatter and drip down his chin, bust his lip—if only they weren't on the school premises. He didn't need a tack on his otherwise spotless record.

"They're _my_ lyrics, Armin. _I_ came up with them. _All_ of them."

"They're _ours,_ Eren," Armin parroted, the same as the first morning of school, standing firm, not at all aware of how close Eren was to losing his shit. Or just didn't care. Armin never knew when to stop. "We came up with them. All of us had our part in them. Together." His insistence only made Eren's blood boil over, blunt nails digging into his calloused palms, carving out crescents. "It's not fair if you give them to her."

Blood pounded in his ears. He didn't need any more of this petty bullshit. Not after Mikasa just broke his heart. Again. He couldn't listen to this for a second longer. "Stop _talking_ to me about what's fair and what's not. None of this even fucking matters because Annie doesn't want any of what I made with you."

"Look, Eren," Armin sighed, forking a hand through his blond bowl cut like _Eren_ was annoying _him_. "I didn't come here to argue—"

"Then what the fuck _did_ you come here for?" Eren almost screamed, his throat protesting the idea. A few students crossing the hallway walked slower, watching them. This needed to end now. His capacity dried a long time ago—why was he still even here? "I already told you to leave me alone. I. Don't. Care, Armin. They're my words, and I'm gonna do whatever I want with them. It's not my problem you're so fucking useless."

Armin stared at him in disbelief, his mouth stuck on a part, the silence around them deafening. "What happened to you, Eren? When'd you get so selfish?"

The warning bell rang distantly. Eren was far away from campus by then, Armin left in the grey. No doubt he'd probably call his parents and let them know how Eren had skipped the rest of the day. Both Armin and Mikasa were annoying goody-two-shoes, former elementary school hall monitors and shit.

When did it all start going so wrong?

The regular bus was stuffy and suffocating yet a thousand times better than being stuck in school. The older woman next to him kept trying to talk to him, wondering why Eren had such a rough face. She meant to be nice, but he just couldn't. Not now. He was exhausted.

Eren exhaled through his nose, tipping his head back against the dirty glass window. The vibrations seeped into his already rattled and weary bones. He tuned in and out of her story about her grandchildren. He wished he had an iPod. He texted Annie, but no response.

At the third stop, Eren lurked the sidewalks for the two miles home. He aimlessly kicked at rocks. His feet ached, and screamed. When his beige house materialized up ahead, Eren sighed in relief. Neither of his parents were home. And he hadn't gotten a phone call from them. _They don't know yet._ He didn't feel like explaining. It would open up a can of worms he wasn't ready to deal with yet.

A lightning bolt of tan fur ripped out of his room, rocketing down the narrow hall, tongue lolling when Eren unlocked his front door. Titan leaped straight to his chest. Eren barely caught all seventy pounds of her, but his mood shifted. Not as much as he would've liked, but enough that his jaw unclenched, his shoulders exponentially unwound. What was it about pets that made everything just a little bit better?

He cracked a smile, pushing her head away enough to _breathe_ and settle her back on the ground. But his pittie wasn't deterred by his yielding, nibbling on his jeans, on his hand. "Okay, okay, mama, ¡ya!" Eren barked. "I love you, too!"

Her triangle ears lowered, her eyes more prominent.

He sighed. She settled well into being left alone for long hours, but Eren hated seeing his dog sad when he was around. "You wanna go for a walk?"

She howled in approval, her butt wagging frantically. Eren shook his head with a smile, trading his backpack for her harness, and off they went down his block.

Titan loved being outside. She loved fumbling around in their backyard and going for walks. He always took her out in the morning before school. Sometimes they'd run together. She loved trotting ahead of him like she owned everything. They were lucky hardly any of his neighbors were around today. Officer Grice always gave him a side-eye whenever they crossed paths during their walks. Some people were pieces of shit whenever they caught sight of Titan. Gabi Braun, Reiner's annoying nine-year-old cousin, threw a rock at her once. It was more about her being a little asshole than fear. Some kids were just asses. Titan had forgiven her, but Eren couldn't.

His dog had gradually trickled to his side. Eren realized she'd never gone this far from home before. He usually did one lap around his block before bringing them back home. Today, he just kept going to Historia's apartment complex.

He should've… changed. Or shaved. Or something. He was a pile of sweat and simmering irritation under his hoodie. It was too late now. Eren was already here, on the second floor, waiting. Frieda owned a corner apartment, easily visible from the sidewalk, over the gated fence. He'd noted the kitchen window open, so Eren assumed someone must be home.

Titan went up the stairs without hesitation, and Eren wasn't sure how or why Titan had jumped to the conclusion that they were supposed to go up the stairs without being told to. _Ah. This is a bad idea._ Eren grimaced, scratching the back of his neck. He didn't even know if Historia was home for sure. For all he knew, she could be skipping. At the mall. Or something.

But a muffled, light shuffle behind the hickory door gave away someone's presence—and Eren _hoped_ it was Historia. Titan's stub wagged furiously on the _Welcome_ mat.

The door cracked open, slowly revealing Historia's petite form, a clean tissue held to the bottom half of her face. He cocked his head at the same time her bleary blue eyes widened, taking him in. She was wearing Annie's Led Zepplin hoodie, and sleep shorts. He didn't know she knew Annie.

Historia didn't look surprised to see him. More worried. Like he was the Ghost of Christmas Past arriving on her doorstep to list off all of her wrongdoings before dragging her to the grave.

The stunned silence carried between them. Eren opened his mouth, but her eyes dropped when Titan whined for attention, the odd one out.

Historia's attention flicked down. "Oh, my God!" She marveled, bending over slightly. His dog didn't move. "She's—" Historia stopped abruptly, face scrunching. She turned to the side quickly and sneezed and screeched, the curse ricocheting down the open hall, "— _fuck!"_ She blew her nose and tried again, mumbling, "She's even cuter in person. She's so beautiful!"

"Are you okay?"

She inhaled wetly, rubbing the tissue on her nose for the last time, and pulled it away, revealing the angry cherry color. "Does it _look_ like I'm okay, Eren?"

"Well. No…"

Titan whined, on the border of crying. Saving him from blurting more dumb shit.

Historia grinned weakly, crouching on the balls of her feet. His pup took that as a clear invitation to launch. Historia screeched, knocked onto her back in a fit of his dog's excitement.

"Titan! Jesus Christ!" Eren reached down, about to pull her away by a handful of fur and skin. "I'm sorry—"

Historia was giggling. She waved him off weakly. "I'm okay. It's fine." She pushed Titan back herself, sitting up slowly. His dog got the message but still assaulted her pale face, her cheeks, with kisses. "She's a good, friendly girl. Right?"

He didn't know Historia for that long, but he hadn't seen her smile this big—perfect white teeth peeking under rose-pink lips, dimple flaring in her cheek. The smile reaching her eyes.

"Yeah." Eren blinked, trying not to clear his throat. He rubbed his neck. "She… loves people."

"Good!" She rubbed his pup's white chest. Titan smiled that infamous Pitbull smile. Historia giggled, planting kisses on the side of her head. "I could use a pick-me-up since Maleficent hates me."

"She's not here?"

"Not at the moment," Historia sniffed, and Titan finally tired of her, turning around and helping herself to Frieda's apartment, sniffing the floor, basking in all the new scents. "We leave the kitchen window open, so she comes and goes as she pleases."

"Right…" He trailed off. "What about your sister?"

"Working." Historia tucked her leg under her, glancing up at him. She rolled her eyes. "Don't just stand there, though. Come inside. Help me up first."

Frieda's apartment smelled faintly of chicken soup and a massive helping of Lysol. Balled up tissues were splattered over the short-legged coffee table, an empty bowl with a spoon. The first object Titan stuck her nose in, of course.

There was a thick blanket draped over the armrest of the couch. Eren appraised it, vaguely recognizing the distorted face on the blanket. Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson from _WWE._

He pointed it out.

"My sister," Historia clarified, gathering her hair to the side and slung on a hair tie. "She's obsessed with him." She shrugged. "It's comfy, so…"

Titan hopped on the long mocha couch, already perfectly comfortable in a stranger's home.

Historia plucked a tissue from the box, blowing her nose unashamed, and sat next to her. His dog immediately plunked her big head on her small lap. Historia grinned, rubbing her exposed belly. "You can sit, if you want," She said to Eren.

Titan shifted, rolling onto her back. A _Jerry Springer_ rerun played on the small flat screen, mounted on a two-shelf black stand, stacks of DVDs inside the glass cabinets. Eren didn't accept the invite, shuffling around awkwardly.

The living room/dining room/kitchen set was kind of sparse, like Frieda never had the time to honestly decorate it. A few potted plants on rolling blocks of wood situated by the walls to add a dash of greenery in an otherwise monochrome space. There were small paintings hooked onto nails: mostly abstract art, pastel colors. A tall, five-iter bookshelf held the most colors, still in the process of being stocked. _Frieda must be tall,_ Eren thought dimly.

One wall had three autographed guitars mounted. Eren stopped, his brows furrowing. Eren drummed his fingers on his thigh, itching to grab one. He didn't think he could wait until practice. "You play?"

"Hmm?" Historia perked slowly, searching for where he was. From this view, he could barely see the back of her head. She found him and followed his gaze to the wall by her left. Historia seemed hesitant. "Oh. No. Not me. They're… part of my dad's collection," She confessed.

"Huh." He said. "I guess I didn't take your dad as a music buff."

She went a little pink. "Well, he, uh, put my sister in guitar lessons when she was a kid. And singing lessons. She's not a professional or anything, though. I took some keyboarding classes in middle school, but I'm not very musically inclined."

He didn't press further, though he wanted to. Historia always kept things strictly basic, and it kind of bothered him. Eren knew she loved to read. Preferred neither tea nor coffee. She loved baking and makeup. And any movie longer than an hour and a half was too long. She didn't even like _Titanic._ The fact that she'd shared a little something about her family life was a start he'd have to deal with.

The rerun ended, bleeding into an afternoon rerun of _Maury._ Eren crossed the few steps, standing on the corner of the couch she didn't occupy. He wasn't sure if he'd look dumb if he sat down now. Eren did shed off his jacket, knotting it at his waist, the A/C brushing his arms. Historia screwed up her face in disgust over some of the ridiculous preview stories these guys made up to disapprove they were the father. Titan snoozed, lightly snoring on Historia's lap.

As entertaining as Historia was, his eyes kept darting to the guitars. Especially that all white Stratocaster, autographed by none other than Kurt Cobain. "Can I play?"

Historia shrugged, her attention not leaving the TV screen. "She doesn't use them."

Not exactly a yes, neither no.

Delicately, Eren brought it with him to the other end of the long couch. It felt unplayed and powerful somehow. He took his time tuning it, testing the strings. Titan bolted awake, scrambling into a sitting position. Historia's eyes strayed to him, a little curious, a little wary though Eren didn't know why.

When it sounded correct, he started playing part four of Green Day's "Jesus of Suburbia."

Titan vocalized completely off tune. Eren broke into a grin. Historia swished her head from side to side slowly, humming along, not minding how congested she sounded. Playing music for others was so utterly calming. Eren didn't understand it, yet it felt so real, and right, and solid unlike anything else in the world. He wanted to keep doing it.

Once the song was over, he felt spent; all that destructive buzzing energy flushed down the toilet with a few flicks of his wrist. Now Eren felt nothing. Or, maybe, he felt everything. He didn't know. He rubbed his head.

Historia flashed him a forced smile. "Bad day, huh?"

Eren propped the guitar on the loveseat. "You could say that."

"Wanna talk about it?"

He heaved a sigh, leaning back, cushioned by the soft couch—fabric, not leather. Eren slid down a little, folding his arms. "It's a long story."

Historia leaned forward, a twitch of a smile on the corner of her mouth, plucking another tissue from the box. "I've been here all day and will be whenever you leave. I've got plenty of time."

Eren stared ahead blankly, the crowds cheering as Maury read the results of the lie detector test. He didn't know where to start. If Historia would judge him. The idea terrified him. But there was nobody else to talk to about it. Annie wasn't answering him still, and his friend's supply was limited to only her and Historia.

"You know the girl I like?"

"Vaguely."

 _Oh, that's right._ He hadn't told Historia much about Mikasa, hadn't singled her out in the mornings. Historia never asked, and he didn't push. Because it was pointless. "We were friends. Best friends, I guess. Me and her and Armin. We've known each other since before Pre-K. We did almost everything together."

"As best friends do," She offered, trying to lighten the mood. "You even take shits together."

"I wouldn't go that far." His lips curved, but now that he wasn't angry, the memories just kept slamming into him. Eren ran a hand through his messy hair. "Her and I—we ended up sleeping together during spring break. She and her boyfriend were on a break—or so she told me."

Historia ripped her eyes away from the TV, both of her thin brows raised high. He recalled the day he told Annie, that very first day back from spring break, watched the swirl of emotions running through her diamond eyes in a split second. She'd settled on disappointment. Eren never asked in _who._

But Historia didn't look at him that way. She was just mildly curious. Interested. Also confused.

"... Okay?" She leaned forward slightly, squinting when Eren didn't respond. Historia tilted her head. "Is this supposed to be the part where I think you're the bad guy or something?"

"I dunno," Eren shrugged, not looking at her. "Do you think it is?"

"You're asking me if I think it's wrong you slept with someone when they were available?"

He rubbed his neck, wincing. "I guess… I guess I didn't think of it that way..." Eren tipped his head back, staring at the popcorn ceiling. He exhaled again. "Why do people even take breaks? Why not just break up?"

Historia shrugged. "I can't answer that 'cause I don't see the point in it either."

He nodded, trudging on, "Well, to make a long story concise, they've been together since sophomore year. She slowly stopped hanging around Armin and me. And… I dunno. I hadn't been around her in so long, just us two, I guess I just… jumped the first chance I got when she came over to my house and told me she wasn't with him at the moment."

"I think you did a lot more than jumping, Eren."

His cheeks flared. "Shut up, Historia."

"Aww—" She abruptly stopped, fumbling for a tissue to catch her sneeze. "Jesus Christ," She mumbled, averting her eyes, rubbing her nose clean. "Don't be embarrassed! I'm just trying to make you laugh. You look way too tense," She sniffed again, tossing the tissue into the bowl. If she wasn't sick, Eren knew she'd rub his arm. "Was it your first time?"

He didn't feel shy or embarrassed about admitting it. "Yeah."

"… _And?"_

His brows pinched together. "And, what?"

Her lashes fluttered, questioning. "How was it?"

"It was... okay."

"Oh, wow," She blinked. "Were you drunk? High?"

"Perfectly sober."

"Huh... So it was that bad."

Eren flushed. "It wasn't _bad_ , but… I can't explain it." He wanted to dismiss it, but something about Historia was so… He couldn't place it. "I could tell she wasn't there with me. She was looking for… something." And it hurt his heart to think that it wasn't with him.

"Yeah." Historia nodded, pulling her legs up. "I guess I can understand that." She scratched Titan under her chin. His pup made a little disgruntled noise, sliding back down, laying her upper half over Historia's lap. A meaty slab of putty. "But why are you telling me this now, Eren? Is it relevant to whatever happened today?"

"She came up to me today. Asked me why I haven't talked to her—to our friends. When I reminded her that _she's_ the one who was avoiding me, she told me that what we'd done was a mistake." Historia cast him a long look. "And a bunch of other dumb shit—like how she assumed I'd never gonna love her the way she loved me. She never even gave me a chance."

"Do you?"

Eren stopped. "Do I, what?"

"Love her."

Eren thought for a long time. "Does it matter anymore? She chose a side."

Historia raised a brow, clearly noticing how he skirted the question. "It's _way_ deeper than 'choosing a side,' Eren."

He sighed, lolling his head back. His eyes slid closed. He remembered everything like it was still happening and not like it happened hours ago. "She also told me she was jealous of me going out with someone. News to me—I dunno who I'm going out with, but, apparently, Reiner's interested in her too. He wants to fight me?" Eren scratched his head with a finger. "This is too much. What a weird day."

Historia was too quiet.

Eren spared her a look, brows fixing together. "What?"

Historia nibbled on her lip nervously, looking away. Her body was tensed, coiled like an old bed spring.

"Historia." His eyes narrowed slightly. "What's going on?"

She peeked at him under her lashes. "Promise me you won't get mad?" She bat her lashes.

He tried not to wince. "I can't promise that. But I'll try not to."

Historia nodded slowly, bracing herself. "So-o… Reiner asked me out Friday after the basketball game. Well. He _tried_ to."

Eren cocked his head to the side. "… Okay?"

Reiner and Historia? Picturing it almost made him laugh. He coughed into his elbow instead.

She frowned. "Hey. I caught that." She shot him a pointed glare before Historia took a deep breath and came out with it. "He asked me if the reason I rejected him was that I was going out with you." She looked at him, hesitant. "He said a lot of people assume we're together, so he did, too, but still felt like he should ask. In case they were wrong…" She bit her lip, fingers fiddling with Titan's spiked pink collar.

Eren's jaw almost dropped to the floor.

Color returned to her cheeks, flushed in red hot embarrassment. "When I didn't deny it, it gave Reiner ideas. He must've blurted what happened to his friends."

He blinked. Once. Twice.

"What the fuck, Historia."

"Hey!" She didn't back down. "In my defense, this is all your fault!"

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "How is this my fault?"

"Because I actually _listened_ to you and cheered for him at our first football game! He hasn't stopped bothering me ever since—" Her face scrunched up, and Eren shoved the box of tissues into her hands. She sneezed into one of them just in time.

Titan crawled off Historia's lap until then she decided she'd had enough of the couch and hopped off.

Rubbing and sniffling, Historia continued, "I was just so mad, I didn't know what else to say. I didn't know what else to do except maybe pepper spray him, but I didn't have any." She turned to look at him, sad blue eyes. Sincerely apologetic in a way Armin and Mikasa weren't. "I really didn't mean to put you in this position, Eren. I'm sorry. And if I told him about Ymir, I had a feeling he wouldn't believe me. Guys can be a little weird when it comes to same-sex stuff."

"De madre," Eren muttered.

"I just wanted him to leave me alone," She repeated, circling her arms around her pulled up legs. "He called me before you got here, you know? He wanted to make sure I was okay, but… I don't even know how he got my number. I'm betting all my money that it was Sandra. That _bitch."_ She seethed. "I can't stand her as much as I can't stand Ruth."

Eren leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees, dropping his head in his hands. "But I don't wanna fight Reiner," He muttered to no one.

"Way to make it about you." He could hear her eye roll.

"My bad."

"If it's of any consolation, I don't think it's even true. I'm pretty sure someone just wants to start drama. Reiner misses you."

He picked his head out of his hands. "He told you that?"

"No, but it doesn't take a genius to figure it out." Historia shrugged. "It's the way he talked about you when you were brought up."

He clenched his jaw, eyes dropping to the burgundy rug. Reiner was kind of everyone's bigger brother figure, though all of them were around the same age. Eren had once looked up to him a lot. Maybe that's what he was now to his football buddies. Once the Galliard brothers found him, Reiner had drifted away from Eren and their friends. Eren knew Reiner's competitive nature ran _deep_ —on and off the football field. If Reiner truly wanted it, they would fight. Over a girl, of all the things.

Eren kneaded his aching temples for the umpteenth time today. _Can today get any fucking weirder?_ He took that back immediately. It wasn't even four o'clock. Eren didn't need to keep jinxing shit.

Needing something to do, he rose. He compressed the tissues into the bowl, gathering the others and piling them on top.

"Wait," Historia protested, small. "I can—"

"I need a second, Historia."

She smashed her mouth shut. He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but Eren needed a breather to piece these crazy thoughts together.

Crossing the few steps into the kitchen, Eren tossed the tissues into the garbage bag hanging off the cabinet knob, Titan's nose buried deep in it. Shooing her away, Eren washed the bowl. Dried it. He didn't know where it went, and didn't trust his voice yet, so he left it out with the other dishes in the white rack. He helped himself to a glass of water from the tap, and poured one for Historia, bringing it to her.

She carefully took it, eyeing him warily, mumbling a 'thanks.'

They sat in silence. Historia flipped through the channels until she landed on Cartoon Network, showing a _Courage the Cowardly Dog_ episode.

"Sorry," He finally said, Muriel complaining about the mac & cheese serving size. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"It's okay. I deserved it."

"No. No, you didn't," Eren leaned back on the couch, hand in his hair. "It's just…"

He didn't know what else to say. The weirdest part about all of this is how much he wouldn't mind going out with her. If things were different, he guessed. If things were easier. But there was no point even entertaining that whim of a dream. Historia still had feelings for her ex. His eyes drifted to her pink phone on the table, a little thing he'd been pretending not to notice all this time. _No doubt waiting for Ymir to call._ And there were his own muddled feelings for Mikasa.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, setting the glass on the table with an air of finality. He recalled Historia's words the very first day they'd met. She might've only been joking, but he couldn't help but ask, "You once said you'd help me out, right?"

Historia slowly turned to him, nodding wordlessly.

He rubbed his chin. Wordlessly, Eren laid his head on her lap. He was expecting Historia to push him away, but she didn't. It felt nice to lay his head on something soft. "What about if we… did?" He stared at the TV. "Go out, I mean."

"Eren—"

"I don't mean for real. I mean… You need Reiner off your back, right?"

"Yeah…"

"I know how he is. I know how to handle him. And there's…" Eren stopped, looking up at her warily. "Well, I can't lie—when Mikasa told me she was jealous, I kind of liked it. I didn't exactly deny it either—that I was going out with someone. Well. With you."

Historia's brows flew up, her eyes searching his face. "You're not mad?"

"I'm still a little annoyed," Eren replied truthfully. "You should've told me something when this started. But I get it. My anger's not directed at you. It's at everything—this stupid town, and these stupid people, and this stupid school," Eren waved himself off before he could go on a tangent that had nothing to do with this. He flipped over carefully onto his back. "I don't mind doing this. It really is my fault, anyway."

Her body considerably relaxed, her fingers loosening around the half-finished glass of water in her hands. "You're a lifesaver, Eren," She grinned, dimple flaring. "I would hug you if I weren't afraid of getting you sick."

"I don't get sick easily, so it's fine."

Historia scoffed, rubbing her nose with her sleeve. She settled for petting his hair, all the right goosebumps pricking his skin at the sensation of her fingers. Titan jumped on the couch, pushing against his side, laying down. "That sounds exactly like something a guy would say before he ends up getting sick."


	7. Chapter 7

Historia could spend all day staring at Mr. Smith.

His towering body should've raised red flags, but his blue eyes were _so_ gentle. The stone slope of his shoulders. Erwin Smith was a giant teddy bear, she thought, watching keenly as Mr. Smith paced in front of the classroom, enamored with their class discussion. And that honeysuckle voice paired with that equally smooth mouth… _Wow,_ she nearly sighed. He made the most boring subject ever—AP Paradis' History—seem enticing for two hours straight.

What first struck Historia about Mr. Smith was how _young_ he was. She thought the same when she met Coach Brzenska during the summer. Why were most teachers at this school so… young? Even Levi, the school janitor, seemed a little young too. Or maybe he was the older of the bunch. He was a huge germaphobe. She had the unpleasant experience of bumping into him once. He copped an even worse attitude than Eren, squeezed into a body that was only a few short inches taller than her. According to her squad, Levi left for Stanford for a dual bachelor's and came back just to pick up a job as a janitor.

Too distracted, she struggled to write Mr. Smith's response to Hitch's question before he erased it. He had such nice handwriting for a man—so neat and easily legible, with a curving loop of 'g's and 'y's. She didn't think other adults besides her father and Frieda wrote in cursive. One of her earliest memories with Frieda was the two of them at the dining room table, the beachfront outside their penthouse window dim from the early evening settling in. Historia had been six, working on her cursive, while Frieda grumbled over her honors geometry homework. Her cursive looked like it came from the hand of a three-year-old, the lines large, and bold, and overlapping in a colossal mess. She'd cried about it. Frieda had shut her up by letting her have strawberry shortcake ice cream after dinner.

Mr. Smith taught his AP class how she expected college classes to be like—a ten question quiz first thing after the final warning bell. Followed by a student-led discussion on the chapter, which somehow exploded into heated debates Historia found herself smack-dab in the center of. She'd never been able to hold her opinion back. After Mr. Smith calmed them all down, he assigned them a worksheet and more reading before the dismissal bell. Nothing Historia couldn't handle. Except she wasn't going to college. _Does beauty school take AP credits?_ She doubted it. She wished this school had cosmetology courses like her last one.

She hadn't chosen Advanced Placement when she applied for school with Frieda. Ilse Langar said all the regular and honors classes were full. It hadn't mattered to her at the moment. She'd always been a decent student, able to pull in above-average grades… when she wasn't paying the smartest person in her class to do her homework. More often than not, Ymir.

Her eyes drifted to Hitch, in front of the classroom. Her captain's eyes were open and interested, shoulders relaxed, absorbing Mr. Smith's lesson. She shook her head slightly. _No. I'm gonna do it all myself._ Historia tried tuning back into the discussion, chewing on the tip of her blue ballpoint pen. They were about to enter into another heavy debate on the Civil War of Paradis against the neighboring country to the north, Marley. She'd already gone over this unit at her old school.

The second Ruth opened her mouth, Historia rolled her eyes. She stared at the crisp dress shirt hugging Mr. Smith's swimmer's body. Ruth would've known the answer if she hadn't been so caught up in her little gossip bubble and actually _read_ the material. Historia couldn't count how many times she'd asked to copy between her and Hitch in a little more than a month.

Or… Maybe Ruth liked hearing Mr. Smith talk. _Can't blame her there._ She had that familiar, enraptured movie star crush brimming behind her bright, brown eyes. The same look she gave Reiner whenever he whisked by their lunch table. _Ruth clearly has a type,_ Historia realized.

Which led to a question she'd been fiddling with since last week. _Will this arrangement with Eren work?_

She still couldn't believe she agreed to something so… juvenile. The outcomes scuttled through her brain well into the night. Pretend dating. Friends with benefits. She could spit it out like a curse. But that's what they were. _I'm pretending to date a guy I barely know just so I get a dumbass off my back, while he gets some sort of vengeance against his almost-something of an ex-friend._ Historia wanted to sink her hands into her hair and sigh.

And if this did work out, then what? What would happen when this was all over? _We'll break up,_ she concluded, _act like nothing happened._ She guessed Eren was betting on the idea of Mikasa coming around and breaking up with her rich boyfriend once and for all. _And when that happens, they'll get together, while I'm… I'm..._

The more scenarios ran through her mind, the more awful it sounded, the more her heart ached for something that wasn't even real. Historia kneaded her temples. _God! What the fuck am I doing?!_ Did yesterday's medicine ingest her with a massive dose of delirium? Or did her brain grow wings and fly at the sight of his dog—his gorgeous, cuddle-bug dog? She cursed her weakness for animals right now. She never had any growing up. It wasn't like her father couldn't afford them, and it wasn't like Historia couldn't take care of them with how often Rod left her home alone. But whatever.

Or was it Eren's sudden appearance at her doorstep, so pissed and sad and twisted that she yearned to find a way to help him? _Dogs are usually reflections of their owners._ Fuck.

The cold classroom seeped under her red cardigan. She wished she kept Annie's sweater, but Hitch was adamant about getting it back. She returned it this morning—after washing it, of course.

The person next to her smacked her arm.

Thirteen pairs of eyes stared right at her, including Mr. Smith's calm gaze. Ruth didn't conceal her tooth-bared sneer. Mr. Smith had been calling her name. Historia flushed. _Oh, my God! For how long?_

Historia wanted to bury her head in her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Mr. Smith. I wasn't paying attention," She admitted. "Can you repeat the question, sir?"

Mr. Smith inclined his head to the side, the class hushed. "Does the topic bore you, Historia?"

"No, not at all, sir," She said a little too quickly, her cheeks still aflame. "I just have…" Historia chewed her lip. "… a lot on my mind right now."

"Save it for after class, all right?"

She squirmed, dropping her eyes. "I apologize, sir."

He didn't repeat himself. Mr. Smith turned the question onto the class. Hitch raised her hand. Historia's phone buzzed.

Historia jolted, her heart leaping up into her throat. And a spark of hope. She waited until Mr. Smith turned his back.

Quickly, she heaved her messenger bag onto her lap and opened the flap. Ymir still hadn't called. No texts. _It's almost been a month,_ she thought dully. Not that Historia was counting. She _wasn't._ But they'd never gone this long without communicating. Not even a Poke on Facebook. Or tagged in a MySpace post.

Despite that it wasn't Ymir, Historia wasn't disappointed to see who it was. Caught off guard, yeah. She never took Eren Yeager as the type of guy who texted during school. Then again, Eren didn't seem to care about much besides music, writing, and Annie's band. And acting like he didn't give a shit about his old friends. He was a horrible actor to her.

_Come upstairs._

That's it. No explanation.

Her eyes flicked up. Mr. Smith had his back turned, drawing a ginormous Venn diagram on the recently installed whiteboard.

Historia typed back, _Why?_

She didn't have to wait long for a response. _You'll see when you get up here._

_Tell me!_

_Historia._ Eren wrote immediately. _Just get up here already. -_-_

She scowled, closing her phone softly, returning it safely to the side pocket of her white cuffed shorts. Why did she keep listening to this fool? _What if he gets me into even deeper shit?_ Historia whined. Eren wouldn't.

Mr. Smith's hall pass was a wide piece of fucking _plywood,_ though. Hauling this skinny thing up the stairs was a hassle. Historia was too short; the plywood nearly towered over her, and the corner kept dragging on the floor. All her dumbbell lifting didn't prepare her for this. She knew from Eren that his former passes had been regular notes, but his students kept losing or leaving. So go big or go home this year.

 _Ugh_ , Historia fumed, _this better be worth it, or Eren's never gonna hear the end of it._ She didn't question why Eren wanted her to cut out in the middle of class. Ymir used to find any excuse to get her out of class just to make out with her in a secluded corner. But that wasn't it. The most she and Eren had done within the week was hold hands. He never made a move beyond that. She didn't think he ever would.

By the time Historia _finally_ reached the top after a small eternity, she was a ball of irritation. The stairwell had no A/C, so she was baking like a preheated oven under this cardigan. And it smelled absolutely disgusting—a mix of freshly smoked weed and something else she didn't want to bother figuring out.

"Oh, shit," Reiner said, muffled behind the door. "My bad, Eren. I really had no idea."

She froze behind the door, swallowing thickly. She hadn't seen Reiner since that Friday, having rushed straight home after his annoying tenacity—with her pizza, of course. Frieda wouldn't let them go home without her eating _something._ To say she also missed that Monday to avoid seeing him wouldn't be a stretch. _But he ended up getting my number and calling me._ And they shared sixth period. So. The joke was on her.

Historia wished she could peek through the square window in the door. _What the fuck is Eren_ doing?

"How _couldn't_ you have an idea?"

"I—I dunno." Reiner sputtered. "I felt like you'd announce it to the group. Or something. Or maybe not. I forgot you guys aren't on speaking terms." He paused. "It's just… I… I didn't see you as the kind of guy who'd ever go out with someone like her."

"Someone like her?" Eren repeated, slow, and confused.

"Yeah, you know, someone who's… not like you, I guess…" Reiner said. "You guys look like you have nothing in common."

"But you guys have everything in common?"

Reiner didn't say anything.

"Yeah. Well." Eren sounded so bored; it almost made Historia _laugh_ over the anxiety thrumming through her veins. "She's the one who asked me out. Can't really say 'no' to a face like that."

"Yeah, I hear that," Reiner agreed. He went silent for a heartbeat. "Wait. Sorry! Didn't mean to say that out loud."

Historia shoved the door open with her shoulder at the same time Eren cut him off. "It's fine, but I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Reiner sputtered into action immediately, his small blue eyes wild and desperate. "Historia. I—" He bowed his head, low and deep, like begging a monarch for forgiveness. Historia's eyes flew wide. "I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you." He whispered frantically, though his hushed tone didn't veil his shame. "I didn't mean to come off so strong and make you uncomfortable. Please, forgive me."

She opened her dry mouth. Historia shut it, eyes snapping up to Eren. _What did you do?_ She mouthed scandalously.

He only shrugged one shoulder and took the plywood from her, propping it against the door of an unused classroom. There was something different about him. Weird. But not a bad weird. She hadn't really noticed it early, but lately, he'd started wearing lighter colors. Like today, acid wash jeans, and an olive crew neck. He was still wearing a black sweater and black suspenders, though.

Eren nudged his head in Reiner's direction, her question unanswered. Her wide eyes fell back on Reiner. He hadn't moved from his uncomfortable position, brandishing his shame for her to witness and judge.

Her mouth automatically parted, caught on _it's okay_. But it wasn't. And what exactly was Reiner apologizing for? For Friday? For calling on Monday, and then proceeding to text her almost every day since? Passing by and paying for her lunch when she never asked? At least the notes had stopped, and Reiner stopped frequenting their lunch table, much to Ruth's dismay. Historia hadn't even answered his friend request on Facebook. Or his Poke. She was glad he hadn't found her MySpace yet.

Eren's brows twitched, noting her hesitation.

It came out more as a question than a confident statement. "I… accept your apology?"

Reiner didn't notice, sighing in relief. Like his annoying persistence ate _him_ up. "Thank you, Historia," He met her eyes, earnest. "Do you think we can be friends?"

Historia folded her arms. "I'm not sure right now."

"One thing at a time, Reiner," Eren agreed, leaning on the wall, arms folded across his chest.

"Oh." His disappointment was evident, but, unlike Friday, he didn't persist. Reiner backed off, raising himself. "That's okay, I…" His eyes darted to Eren. "I think I understand. Boundaries, and all that."

"Sure," Eren shrugged. "And make sure you do something about those guys. I don't think Zackly would take too kindly about having to let the majority of the team go because of that." His voice sounded a lot better, stronger. Before he'd left, she'd made him a cup of boiling water mix with honey and a little bit of lemon—nature's remedy. But Eren still looked at it like it'd kill him. He drank it, though—whining and complaining the entire time in a strange blend of English and Spanish, pinching the bridge of his nose and gulping it down. He'd never told her he knew Spanish! She could've been paying him for her homework this whole time!

"I will, don't worry, Eren," Reiner bobbed his head. "I never thought it was right. But..."

A grim look flashed across Eren's face. He pushed off the wall. For a split second, she thought Eren would go for it—the rumored fight between them. But Eren only stood his ground, standing tall, the around him cackling. "You knew about it all this time, though. And you haven't done anything to put a stop to it. Why? Your new friends are really that important to you?"

Reiner opened his mouth, about to protest. He dipped his head, ashamed. "Yeah, I knew," He admitted softly. Historia was _so_ confused, but something in Eren's stiff posture conveyed now wasn't the time to ask. "But guys will be guys." Reiner shrugged weakly. "It's not like they were gonna… Well. I dunno. I never asked."

She pulled her lips into a thin line. She hated that _phrase_.

Eren shook his head. "Just do something about it, compadre," He snapped, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer behind them. Her jaw almost dropped. _This weirdo's enjoying this!_ "If there's someone that can do anything about this, it's you. They'll listen to you."

"Yeah. I swear I will," Reiner peeked over his shoulder hurriedly, like someone was calling out to him. It was just the three of them in this narrow, vacant corridor. "Well. I should get back to class. I've been out long enough…" He waved a meaty hand, backing away. "I really am sorry about everything, Historia. I'll see you guys around?"

Eren lifted his shoulders slowly. Historia didn't say anything either.

The two of them quietly watched Reiner sprint down the hall and disappear into his classroom, two doors down the other end of the hallway.

When the door shut, Historia swung, catching Eren in the ribs. He doubled over in silent laughter, shoulder's shaking.

"What the _fuck_ did you say to him, Eren?!" She raved under her breath. "Oh, my God!"

He cleared his throat but didn't answer right away. Eren grabbed the plywood, shoved it under his armpit, and pushed open the door to the stairwell. "Nothing!"

Historia marched after him. "Don't lie to me! That wasn't nothing!" She poked him the back—her brows furrowed. _So firm._ And he wasn't ticklish. _Shame_. "What. Did. You. Do?!" She emphasized each word with pokes.

"I really didn't do anything!" Eren laughed, grabbing her hand with his free one, holding it behind him. She liked that he never wore gloves, always kept his hands bare. "Okay. So, I _might've_ gotten a little carried away. I haven't had fun like that in a while."

"No shit! Didn't you see how he was two seconds away from taking a dump?!" She swat his torso. "You're so bad, Eren!"

At the bottom of the stairs, Eren grinned sheepishly. "I only repeated what you told me last week, Historia. That's all." He pushed open the door with his shoulder. "We came to an understanding. He shouldn't bother you anymore."

"Uh-huh." It was hard to keep her own grin from stretching across her mouth. " _Sure."_

Under her immense relief and gratitude, Historia touched a fog of envy. Why was it that guys only seemed to listen and value what other guys said? Eren shouldn't have had to speak on her behalf, for her. Reiner should've gotten the point the moment she'd rejected him. She missed her all-girls' private school. Guys were so much more of a headache than girls.

A few doors down from Mr. Smith's class, Eren cleared his throat, planting his shoulder on the empty lockers. "You were right, though. Reiner never wanted to fight me. He doesn't know how that rumor started. He actually wanted to talk to me, but we don't have any classes together. He had to get my number from someone."

She grinned smugly, poking his arm. "Told you!"

His eyes narrowed down at her slightly. "Nothing about him missing me, though." He rubbed her hair. "You _sure_ you didn't just imagine that?"

She frowned up at him, swatting his hand away and fixing her bangs. She'd mess with his hair in retaliation, but Eren was too tall. It was easier when he was sitting by her side. "You really think a big guy like that's gonna come out and just _say_ that?"

Eren rolled his eyes before nudging his head in the direction of Mr. Smith's class. "Maybe. Don't underestimate us guys."

She didn't want to go back to class just yet. "So…" Historia elongated, fists on her hips. "What exactly was that thing you told him to take care of?"

He winced and stayed quiet for a moment. "You have practice today, right? After school?"

"Yeah." She didn't know what the question had to do with hers. Or why he'd made such a face.

"I'll take you somewhere tomorrow. I know a place. I haven't been there in a while. So," He shrugged. "It might take me a minute to find it."

There weren't so many secluded places in a small town, but Historia still wanted to know of them. Frieda was always too busy to show her around herself. The week of their arrangement, Eren took her to an ice cream shop in the south part of town, a tiny place Ruth said was overrated. But Historia loved it, especially the local specialty—a reinvented version of a banana split with bite-size cheesecake pieces and a helping of cherry sauce. Eren was so _essential_ and _boring_ and got a cone with two scoops of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce drizzled over it.

Historia's brow rose suspiciously, prying the plywood from him. "Sounds an awful lot like you're trying to kidnap me."

Eren opened his mouth but rolled his eyes and smirked. "Can't be kidnapping if you're willing."

* * *

Historia stared at his morose side profile. "You're so lost, Eren."

He rolled his eyes so hard, Historia was surprised his eyes didn't fall from their sockets. "I can't be lost if I know how to get back home, Historia."

"But you can't find this place! Hence—" Historia splayed her arms, fingers indicating to the empty one-way road. "—you're lost!"

"I'm _not_ lost, Historia!" Eren insisted for the umpteenth time, turning his father's new Chevy Equinox into _another_ three-point turn. "Trust me. I know it's somewhere past the sign."

"I'm trying to trust you," Historia muttered, fluffing her hair. "But you're not doing an excellent job of earning my trust."

He shot her a scowl.

They passed the same sign again. 12 miles to Trost. 118 to Orvud. 305 to Krolva. _And only a thousand more to my father,_ she added ruefully, a world of walnut barks and pine leaves dipped in sangria meshed into one dissonant color blurred by her passenger window. They'd passed a different sign twice—a large, navy indicator listing off the nearest concessions: fast food places, gas stations, hotels. Eren said that sign was too far from where he wanted to go, and made a hasty U-turn both times. Would this be the wrong time to tell him she was getting a little hungry? She hoped he brought food in that backpack of his, flopping around in the backseat.

And Historia was getting restless. She couldn't stop squirming around, trying to figure out where Eren planned to take her that was out here in the woods. At least the SUV was comfy. Spacious. Black exterior, black, and leather beige interior. With an AUX option Eren couldn't use. He didn't have an iPod, so Eren let her plugin hers; Johnny O. on a murmur while he tried to concentrate on locating their destination. He was getting into it, head swaying, fingers tapping. It was cute. _He's cute_.

"I've never heard of this genre. I like it. Is this what people listen to in the big city?"

She squinted at him. "Wait. _Seriously_?" Historia exclaimed. "You mean to tell me part of your family's Puerto Rican, and you've never heard of freestyle? Puerto Rican's and Italians invented this genre!"

"No one on my Puerto Rican side listens to this kind of stuff, Historia," Eren replied, rubbing his neck briefly. "My dad's more into old school merengue and Cuban salsa. He used to be a dance teacher when he was younger."

"No way!"

"Yeah, that's how my parents met— _fuck!_ " Eren roared, hitting the brakes and veering off the road to turn around when he passed the sign _again_. Historia had grabbed onto the handle, steadying herself in time. "Not again!"

She laughed. "I think you should take me somewhere else, Eren," Historia offered. "We've been here for, like, twenty minutes already." Her stomach grumbled lowly.

He glanced at her, his eyes briefly flickering to her legs on the dashboard before they snapped back to the road. "We're probably gonna have to get down and walk," Eren told her. "I can't see it. And when the sun starts to go down, it's gonna be a lot harder to find."

" _What?!_ " She shrieked.

But he'd already decided. Eren pulled the car off the road, climbed it into the dirt slowly, carefully, and parked it behind the sign. "It's easier like this, Historia," He killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. "It's how my friends and I found it the first time. We walked."

Historia's eyes bugged, her mouth flapping open. The second she found her voice, Eren had grabbed his bag from the backseat and shut the driver's door. He circled the hood of his father's Chevy.

She hastily unbuckled herself and hopped down from the cocoon of safety. " _Are you serious_? You guys _walked_ all the way out here?" Historia whipped her head around."It's, like, fifteen miles away from town!"

The air was dense and smothering. The commotion of insects and frog bleeps and chirping within made her insides tremble. Historia held onto her bare, goosebump pricked arms. A white, floral bustier top and pink pleated skirt were not appropriate attire for an outing in the woods. _Why couldn't he be more specific!_ She was _so not_ a country girl!

"No seas tan dramática," Eren brushed off. "It's only eight miles away. Connie's parents own a farm about two miles from…" He lifted his hand, about to point, but thought better of it. "...somewhere around here."

His eyes swept the open area gain. These _Jurassic Park_ trees with thick, angry veiny barks and equally dense growth flanked both sides of the narrow strip of the concrete road they'd been zipping up and down on. It'd been raining on and off during school. Good thing Historia decided to listen to him and wore boots.

"He has a bunch of animals—horses, pigs, chickens," Eren explained, stomping down the rocky path, his grey eyes glued to the trees. "This annoying ass rooster I wanted to squeeze the life out of whenever I slept over. Honestly, when you have nothing better to do in the summer besides smoke and drink, there's nothing like making a bag of supplies and walking around until you find _something._ "

Her brow quirked. "Sounds cool... And a little dangerous."

He shrugged. "It's only dangerous whenever his animals escape." Eren tightened the strings of his bulky book bag. He crossed the road without looking both ways. "One of his pigs escaped one time because Reiner left the gate open. We had to go after it before Connie's mom got home."

Historia ran after him like an idiot, grasping tight to his elbow. "And?"

The SUV beeped in confirmation when Eren locked it. "And I found a spot."

"You already _said_ that," Historia whined, shaking his arm. "Stop being so mysterious and tell me!"

He slipped out of her lock, rubbing her head, pushing her bangs around. "You'll see."

She groaned, fixing her hair with delicate fingers before she decided to tie all of it up with the purple scrunchie on her wrist, stomping right behind him. "What if we never find it?"

"Relax, Historia. I'll find it."

 _Relax, Historia_ , she sneered at Eren's broad back, tightening her bun. She'd relax _plenty_ if he just told her where the fuck they were going!

Historia crossed her arms, marching right behind him. _Maybe I should've told him I hate hiking_. There was that one 'vacation' her father took her on. Hiking in the supposedly beautiful mountains of Mitras. Never again. It poured heavily that afternoon, and between the bugs and the foggy forest and the branches scraping her knees, Historia didn't last more than two hours. Rod only rolled his eyes, ignoring her the entire time. And Frieda couldn't calm her down. And if her older sister couldn't calm her down, there was no way Eren could.

Unzipping the side pocket of the backpack, Historia checked her phone. No signal. And, anyway, still nothing from Ymir.

She sighed, tucking it back in. "You should've told me we were going hiking. I would've dressed a lot better."

"We're not. And I told you to wear a bathing suit."

"You said we weren't going to the beach!"

"We aren't, but I said we'll be near water."

She pouted at his back. For all her grumbling, Historia was ecstatic to be out of Frieda's apartment again—even if they were in the middle of an empty and creepy road. And a little lost. It was still better than being stuck at home, waiting around for her ex's call like a loser. All Historia had was school, practice, homework, reading, and that Korean place holed in the plaza about a mile away. And Reeve's Pizzeria—whenever the girls remembered to invite her. Hitch rarely went. Historia never liked to impose, and she didn't want to deal with Ruth and Sandra alone.

Things were looking up now that Eren was around more often. She really was trying to trust him more. She'd never had many close friends growing up. Just Ymir. And Frieda, before she left for college—if sister's counted that way.

"So. Are you gonna tell me what happened yesterday?"

"Whaddya mean?"

Historia blew a raspberry, a stray strand of her bangs flying out of her eyes. "What you asked Reiner to take care of."

His shoulders tensed. _Oh._ Dread pulsed through her. _It's bad._

Eren slowed down, allowing her to reach his side. He gazed down at her, taking her in, the lack of sunlight casting shadows across his delicate features. "There's, uh." Eren searched for the right words. He scratched his jawline with a finger. "The football team made this… list. About the girls in our school."

She didn't understand. "What? Like… a smash-or-pass list? How'd you find out?"

"Heard some guys talking about it in class. Asked Reiner about it. From what he told me, it seems like they were rating girls based on… You know, their _assets._ Reiner said some of 'em had bets going on, see if they could take some of these girls out and see how far they could get." Eren searched the road, the trees, the sky. Not a single car had passed the entire time they were here. "You were high up on the list."

She desperately wanted it to be a joke. Some stupid joke Eren came up with to mess with her. But this was too cruel. And in the month she'd known him, Eren wasn't much of a jokester. He was more like her, with an arsenal of sarcastic comments and twitchy movements. He started walking.

"Reiner says they were planning something for the homecoming dance in November," Eren continued, his heavy boots crunching. "I guess some of them wanted to ask you out to see who'd get it—if we weren't still together by that time. Or if I never asked you to go."

She could feel his teeth grinding, his displeasure radiating off him like heat waves. _This_ was how she'd thought Eren would react when he found out about her momentary lapse of the tongue on Friday night. But here he was, worked up over something completely different. Historia didn't understand why.

"Look, I'm not trying to give Reiner a pass or anything," He started, glancing over his shoulder, noting her silence. "but it seems like he had genuine feelings for you."

 _If they were so genuine,_ Historia thought, _why didn't he put a stop to it right away? Why'd he wait until Eren had to tell him something?_ She twisted her lips, annoyed by Eren's implication. "So, what—now you're saying I should give him a chance?"

"No, it's not my place to say," Eren said. "I think he's just as guilty as the rest. But he's not... all bad. Even so, only you know what's best for you. So if you don't speak to him, I get it. And if you ever do, it's fine, too. What I don't get are these kinds of jokes."

"Yeah," Historia breathed, trying to quell the distant buzz chasing throughout her body. "That makes two of us…" She could only imagine if she'd accidentally spilled the details about Ymir to Reiner. Could _hear_ all the disgusting, snide comments and wicked fantasies. The guys weren't exactly subtle about Hitch and Annie.

She gripped her elbows, glancing at the steel clouds parting. She didn't want to cry. "Thank you, Eren."

Eren glanced over his shoulder again, meeting her wet gaze for a second. He frowned, his brows drawn low. "I didn't do anything, Historia." He shoved his hands in his pockets, sailing forth. He kicked another pebbled onto the cracked road. "There's no need to thank me for being a decent person."

Historia shrugged. "You did more than enough. You didn't have to ask Reiner to take care of it."

"Of course I had to, Historia. You're my friend."

She swallowed, crinkling her nose, brushing quickly at her eye. She was thankful he had his back turned. Historia joined him, toeing rocks out of her way. It felt nice to kick something. "Do you think he'll take care of it, though?"

"He should." He didn't sound as confident about that like yesterday. "The way I see it—the school's reputation relies on the athletics department. It's what we're known for. That's how the school gets all the funds, where the focus is. If those guys know what's right for 'em and their futures, they'll put a stop to it and throw that shit away. I'm not about to be the one to rat them out. I have no proof besides hearsay.

"Just in case…" Eren stopped, waiting for her to catch up to his side. He winced, rubbing his neck, peeling back some strands clinging to his face. "I guess we're gonna be stuck together a lot longer than I thought."

Historia wasn't sure how she felt about Eren using 'stuck,' but she was more concerned about _what_ was so different between them after only a week of this fake-dating business. She didn't understand why she was so eerily comfortable around him in a way that she hadn't been with anyone else, and so quickly. She felt like she could tell him almost anything. But she knew she shouldn't. They were navigating through testy waters on a barely stable boat. There were still so many things they hadn't discussed about this arrangement, and Historia wasn't sure how to bring it up.

She looked away from him, tugging on her ponytail. "How long did you think we'd do this for?" She hoped she sounded confident and not meek.

"Uh. December—maybe?"

Her brow rose. "Why that long? I was thinking more like a month. Maybe after Halloween."

Eren shrugged, walking ahead, and said, "I notice that's time people break up and get together."

Historia pulled her lips, fighting off a smile. "You've obviously never had a girlfriend before."

"You're right. I haven't."

She gaped at the back of his head. Historia shook it off. "Well, I'll make sure you get your money's worth! There's a lot I can teach you!"

Eren spared her a sideways glance, shaking his head. Wordlessly, he prowled along the edge of the forest like a bloodhound in search of the scent. _Maybe he might've had a better chance of finding it if Titan were here._ Historia was about to tell him when Eren halted, jerking his back straight.

He honed in towards the congestion of shrubs, sweeping aside the branches brushing his torso. He looked up. Looked over his shoulder. "Through here," He announced, indicating with his head in the general direction.

Historia hesitated, appraising him from her spot on the semi-dry road as Eren started pushing through the thick mahogany and garner colored shrubs. She grimaced. "... Are you _sure_ we're not going hiking?"

"Positive," Eren extended his hand. "It's gonna feel like it for a bit, though. We got a little bit more walking to do, on an incline."

She glanced at his hand. Frowned. She crossed her arms. "Tell me where we're going," She demanded.

Eren rolled his eyes, beckoning. "Just trust me, Historia."

"Can I get a piggyback ride, at least?"

"No."

Historia groaned. Steeling herself for the worst possible trip of her life, she took his hand reluctantly.

She thought climbing the stairs with Mr. Smith's plywood pass was a mission. This was _so much worse._ The staircase had been nothing compared to the humidity that swelled the deeper and higher they climbed, sweat uncomfortable clinging to her body. She was glad she'd left her cardigan in his car, but looking at Eren and his faded sweater made her queasy. He didn't even have the sleeves rolled up. _How is he not dropping dead?!_ They were moving so slow because of her—Historia felt so bad. But Eren didn't seem to mind. She still wished he'd carried her instead.

Thinking about the reptiles crawling all around them made her skin prickle and her arms itch. She didn't mind ants, but snakes and lizards… _Ugh_. Historia hadn't realized how tightly she'd been clutching Eren's hand until he squeezed back in assurance, just as sweaty. His hands were a nice kind of callus. She liked holding his hands for long periods.

He led the way with evident confidence, explaining how he'd marked some of the tree branches above them with neon shoelaces and carved shapes in the barks. She never took Eren for a tree climber, but Historia guessed it fit him. On the road, he'd been trying to find one of his mom's creepy gnomes he'd stolen and left by the tree. _Someone moved it,_ he'd said. He'd even taken the initiative to carve out a path, the branches hacked off, bright docks dotted in a haphazard line. Historia had a basketball game tomorrow afternoon, and she didn't want to imagine the look on Coach Brzenska's face if she showed up with scraped knees.

The path gradually morphed from wet dirt to slicked rocks, dead leaves scattered around. Historia's brows furrowed. Sandstones with quartz veins. Eren eventually stopped, parting the red-tinted shrub that acted as a gate.

She gasped at the sight. " _No way!"_

"I got to it first," Eren said smugly, then his face fell. "We never found the pig, though. The bears probably got it."

He took her to a fucking _hot spring._ Historia could almost scream in excitement. Condensation dripped from the sandstones hugging the edge of the pool. Dead leaves floated on the surface like lily pads. If it weren't so difficult to find, she could see herself coming here often. Her own private spa. She wanted to pinch her cheeks, see if this was only a dream.

Historia pictured Eren and his friends crowding here during the summers vividly—these boys leaping off the thick, low branches arching above, screaming as they crashed into the steaming water. Sitting on the stones. Munching on candy and drinking soda's they weren't supposed to have before dinner. Maybe one of them snuck in their father's vodka in a flask they weren't supposed to have at all. Or the bottle entirely.

She beamed at him. "This is so fucking cool, Eren!"

His cheeks colored under his tan skin. Eren scratched the side of his jaw, looking away. "Nobody else knows about this place."

" _Seriously?!"_

"Well, besides my friends. This used to be our spot." Eren circled the perimeter, sliding leaves off the stones with his boot. "There's a couple of others around here, but this is the biggest one. Swimmable too."

Historia sunk to her knees, brushing leaves out of the way with her hands. The sandstone was shockingly cool and smooth to the touch. Thin tendrils of wild steam wafted from the water, beckoning her like fingers to take a dip. Damn. She wished she'd listened to him about that bathing suit. "How come you didn't bring Titan?"

Eren paused and frowned at her. "... I'm not sure if she knows how to swim… She's still kind of a hassle to take a bath. Maybe next time." He went quiet, boots crunching on the fallen twigs and twigs. He snapped a few more branches off and knocked a green glass bottle to the side. "We made a pact never to tell anyone about this place. You're actually the first girl here."

Her head snapped up. He wasn't looking at her, still using his feet as a makeshift broom to clear debris and plastic cups and glasses left behind and forgotten. She almost thought she'd imagined it. "Whaddaya mean?"

Eren frowned deeply, uncovering a pile of empty beer bottles—and a used condom. Not his, judging by how his face twisted in disgust. Eren dropped to a knee, slinking his bag off his shoulder. He pulled out a plastic bag and scooped up the garbage. "Never mind. Looks like Mikasa beat you to it."

"How do you figure she was here?"

Eren grabbed the blue glass by its neck, wiggling it. "Jean's the only moron I know who drinks this nasty shit." Eren tossed in the trash, clinking violently with the other hollow glasses bottles he'd picked up. "This used to be a guy's only spot. Mikasa used to get so mad we wouldn't let her come with us. Sasha, too."

"I'd be pissed too—" She indicated with a hand to the water. "—if you didn't wanna share a place like this with me!"

"I'm not keeping it from you. You can come here whenever you want." Eren shrugged, like that answered that. "We'd always tell them to hang out with Annie. But Annie didn't really like hanging out with them as a group. I dunno. I guess she's not into girly things, and Sasha… _is._ I always felt like Sasha and Mikasa were closer friends." He rubbed his chin, still trapped in thought. "I never got how Annie and Mikasa were best friends for so long." He finished while double knotting the bags' handles.

"Don't undermine women's solidarity in a small place like this," Historia crossed her arms. "What is it, a population of, like, three thousand people? Four?"

"Dunno. Maybe less. Jean's dad would know—he's the mayor." Eren left the bag there, standing up and moving on. His eyes were clouded, drowning in memory. "Armin's birthday was the last time we were all here. It was too cold to go in the water, but that didn't stop us. We were fourteen."

Sitting on the edge of the sandstone, Historia united the laces of her booties and tugged her patterned cat socks off, chewing on what to say. She didn't like seeing Eren so doom and gloom. He continued to pick up more trash, wearing the ache on his face like a permanent mark. He never really told her the full story of what happened. Maybe there was just no full story to tell. People grow apart for reasons no one can understand.

"Is this water sanitary, though?" She asked, poking a toe in, the water rippling. "Looks questionable."

Eren briefly looked to the side, enough for Historia to catch a crack of a smile. "Since when are you Tantor from _Tarzan?_ "

Historia thought. "I like to think of myself as more of an Iago."

"No way! You're not annoying," Eren said. "But there are no piranhas in Paradis. Or leeches." He paused, looking uncertain. "I think. I'm not much of a wildlife expert."

"Don't mess with me like that, Eren!"

"I swear there's not!"

She glared at the back of his head. Against her better judgment, Historia decided to dip a hesitant foot into the water, sinking until her ankle. The water wasn't too hot. And the ripples didn't reveal anything swimming beneath the surface.

She moved her foot around, just in case, drawing circles and shapes. Still nothing. "How deep is it?"

"It's not that deep," Eren answered, crouched behind a large, oval-shaped rock jutting from the ground. He lifted an old school boom box from behind it, covered in specs of dirt and a few leaves. He moved to a semi-flat rock. Eren popped open the back, his head disappearing behind the old school device. "We tried teaching Connie how to swim here once. Didn't work. Reiner almost drowned him."

Historia smirked, lifting her lips to drag her skirt down. "And you just let him?"

"Well…"

She laughed at him. "You're awful!"

"It's not my fault he wanted to—Historia, what're you doing?" He'd lifted his head for a millisecond before he ducked, but not before she'd caught the red flaring his cheeks.

She'd stood up, pushing her skirt to the side. Her underwear wasn't anything special—plain black boy shorts similar to what she had to wear under her cheer uniform. "So. Ass or thighs?"

He shook his head.

"Ah. So both!"

He made a ruckus of unnecessary noises. "I'm not saying anything to that."

"Oh, come on. We're friends, right? This is good stuff to know if I ever need to put in a word for you. I'm a great wing-woman. I give you permission this one time." Eren shot her a glare. Historia rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll drop it. Can you give me your shirt?

"Why?"

"So I can get in. _Duh_."

Eren gestured at her lazily. "Just get in like… _that._ It's fine."

Historia sighed. "Eren, I'm not getting in the water with _this_ on." She tugged on the spaghetti strap. "It's gonna squeeze the light outta me in there."

He glanced up just as quickly as Eren's gaze swooped away. "I told you to wear a bathing suit, Historia."

"And like I told you, you should've told me exactly where we were going!"

Eren shook his head softly, sighing.

"Can you just give it to me?"

"I don't get why you'd need it."

Historia looked to the trees, the thick branches obscuring most of the sun. Her cheeks heated. "Because—if you must know—I'm not wearing a bra. Okay?"

A pause.

"Uh. Why are you not wearing a bra, Historia?"

He sounded so genuinely curious. She did _not_ want, nor have the time, or the patience, to stand here and explain female fashion to him.

"Ugh, Eren! Can you please just give me your shirt? Like… now! It's getting cold!" Historia beckoned him impatiently. "Please! Now would be nice!"

Eren groaned loudly, shoving his zipper down in one fluid motion. "Okay, okay! Fine!" He spewed a bunch of sentences in Spanish. Something about her being ridiculously bossy. And childish. And spoiled.

She squinted at him, crossing her arms. "Have you forgotten I'm taking Spanish?"

"I _wanted_ you to hear that," He hooked a finger on the collar of his shirt, yanking it over his head. "Make sure Caven's teaching you right."

He balled up his shirt and tossed it at her like passing off a basketball. She didn't get a second to gawk. Historia fumbled to catch it before the soft material smacked right into her face.

Eren jammed his arms back into his sweater, pulling the dark fabric over the hard curve of his shoulders. "Happy?"

Sunlight danced on the jagged metal of the zipper resting on his naturally tanned skin. His toned muscles, the slight definition of his abs flexing with his every breath. Eren was pretty lean—she'd expected as much. She never liked brawny guys like Reiner—Mr. Smith was an exception because he was a teacher and unattainable. And so was Eren, for that matter. His heart was set on someone else.

Still, Historia had half a mind to belt a glare at him and demand why Eren chooses to hide so much. He had nothing to be ashamed of. But she thought better of it.

Eren blinked at her in confusion. "Historia? You good?"

 _Oh, shit._ He totally caught her making goo-goo eyes! Her cheeks flared. How mortifying!

Historia fumbled with his shirt, straightening it out, bumbling out a, "Y—Yeah. Thanks."

He looked skeptical but didn't say anything, back to messing around with the boombox. Historia shimmied into his abalone shirt, ignoring the way it smelled just like him—a little sweaty and earthy, like the forest wrapped around them. She unlaced the bustier underneath, letting it fall with her discarded pieces of clothes. The hemline of his shirt fell to her knees, a giant shapeless dress.

"So, where'd all your band shirts go?" She knotted the shirt at her waist. "Are they being washed? Is that why you're dressing like a super generic guy all of a sudden?"

Eren flipped her off.

Historia laughed, dipping her legs one at a time. "Hey. How come you never told me you spoke Spanish until recently?"

Eren's eyes flicked up. "You never asked. How come your name is Historia when you don't speak Spanish?"

She lifted her shoulders. "Guess my dad thought the name was pretty," Historia kicked her legs softly in the water. "I never asked."

"What about your mom?"

"Not in the picture."

Eren didn't say anything. He popped the lid on, sealing off the back of the boombox. "Well. This town doesn't have many mixed kids. And they're not exactly accepting. Most of us prefer to blend in, I guess." He lifted a shoulder. "I'm not ashamed of where my dad comes from, but I prefer to keep my head down. I already got enough shit to deal with."

Historia nodded slowly. "But how come you're taking Italian and not Spanish for nonspeakers? You're missing out on a free 'A.'"

He popped out one of the antennas, stretching it fully. "I won't take the easy way out," Eren clicked one of the keys in the front. Ringing feedback burst through. He frowned, popping the other antenna out with some difficulty—still nothing. "And, honestly, I feel like she and I would fight all the time. Spanish has so many different dialects. I don't trust that white lady to teach the same things I learned from my old man and abuelo's."

"Hm. I don't think I could ever do something like that."

"What, take the challenging road?" He asked, squinting. "But you're a cheerleader, Historia. All that spinning and cartwheeling and splits… I don't imagine that's easy."

"I used to pay people to do my homework," She said, smirking at him cynically. "Funny. If you'd told me you were Puerto Rican right off the bat, I could've been paying you to do my Spanish homework."

He chortled. "Homework's a bunch of bullshit, so I don't blame you there. But you need to do your own work." Eren said, stern.

With a frown, Historia hopped off the edge, plunging straight into the water. She couldn't even enjoy the warm embrace because he was right. It was shallow. For _him._

Historia crashed through the surface, spitting out water, soaked to the bone. "You asshole!" She lobbed water at him. It barely reached. Didn't even touch him.

Her angry reaction made Eren laugh; his cheeks flushed, eyes crinkled. "I might've forgotten for one second that you're two feet tall," He choked out, trying to calm down. Eren went right back to laughing into his fist. "There are leaves in your hair, Historia."

" _UGH!"_ She screamed, her toes dancing on the soft floor bed. She _really_ wished Rod had put her in ballet or gym classes. She threw more water at him. Still didn't reach. "Why the fuck do I keep listening to you?! All you ever do is get me in trouble! _Fuck!"_

Pressing his lips in a thin line, Eren reached into his bag. He pulled out a face towel. "I also told you not to wear makeup."

"I'm not wearing makeup—that's _beyond_ the point!" Swimming close to the edge, she got some better traction, her feet firmly on the jagged stone. She snatched the towel, and furiously scrubbed her face. "Shut up! Stop laughing, crybaby! I'm gonna get you back!"

"Pretty sure the crybaby right now is you." Eren turned his back right before the water smacked him. He shot a glare over his shoulder. "Hey! Watch it! Electronic here! I could've died!"

Historia rolled her eyes, throwing him the towel. Eren caught it. "With my luck, you would live and end up annoying me for the rest of my life."

"I do tend to hold grudges," He confirmed, smiling slightly.

Eren slung the strap of his backpack over his shoulder, grabbed the boombox by the handle, and circled around the pool, heading to a different spot. Historia could guess it was _his_ , judging by how Eren plopped right down and didn't bother adjusting his position. He set the box in front of him, a crack of music flowing from the radio before it shot to feedback again. Furrowing his brows, Eren maneuvered the antennas slowly apart, a country song breaking through.

"Any preference?"

"Anything that's not country." Almost all the stations around this area were country stations.

"Thank God," he praised, turning it to hip-hop station with a click of a pre-set dial; Luniz's "I Got 5 On It" about to finish. She never in a million thought Eren would like this genre. He mouthed the words like he'd practiced them a hundred times in front of a full-length mirror.

He plucked his boots off. Her brows flew up at his lime green socks. He'd once mentioned his favorite color was green, but she didn't expect _that_ green. Eren rolled his joggers to his knees and took out his notebook from his backpack. A pen. And… that was it.

She swam towards him. "You're not getting in?"

"Nah."

She blinked, folding her arms on top of the sandstone. "Why not? I don't have cooties," She tried sweetly.

Eren shrugged, unaffected. "I don't care for the water."

She raised a skeptical brow. "What about the beach?"

His face scrunched. "No."

"Why not?"

"The closest one's all the way south of Trost. Like, two hours away. And it's always packed no matter what time we went. I never went back after that crab bit my toe." Historia grinned, and Eren frowned at her pleasure. "Jean said I was being a little bitch about it, but," He shrugged, cutting himself off. "I don't care for sand either. It's annoying, and that shit gets _everywhere."_

"Okay, Anakin Skywalker."

He sneered at her, opening his notebook. It was a regular composition book, tattered to absolute pieces, the spine held on by tape. "Laugh it up."

"But what about dirt? That gets everywhere too, and yet…" She gestured around them. "I imagine you come here every once in a while when you need some air."

"Not recently, no, but they're both equally annoying." He tapped the end of the black pen on his head. "But, I dunno. There's about this place. Something… calming about being here. Peaceful."

"True, except for the lizards and the bugs, and the fact that most people are murdered in the woods," She muttered. "At least sand's warm and pretty."

He glared at her sideways, playfully. "People get murdered on the beach too, Historia," Eren refuted. "Haven't you watched _48 Hours?_ Look at all the bodies they're always finding on the beach."

"But not as often as they're found by a lake!" She poked his ankle. "C'mon! Don't tell me there's never been a murder scandal here? No small town is safe from those."

He scratched the side of his head with the end of his pen, thinking. "None that I know of. Might have to ask my mom."

"Oh." She propped her elbow, resting her cheek on her palm. "She grew up here?"

"She did leave for… A year, I think she told me. For college. She wanted to be a nurse. She ended up coming back and moving in with my grandparents to take care of my grandma when she fell and broke her elbow. My dad came with her. Had me a couple of months later. They never left, not even after my grandparents passed."

She nodded quietly. "I see. So your parents live in your grandparent's house."

"Yep. Belonged to their parents, too. It's an old house."

She rested her chin on her forearms, her eyes in a faraway land. A quaint town, quiet sometimes, a little far from a big and loud city life. Where kids still played on the streets and neighbors knew and greeted each other like old friends. Where memories spanned back generations. Epochs of mom-and-pop stores teemed with relics of the past and spaces for the impending future. "That sounds so nice."

Eren shrugged. "I guess. It doesn't mean much to me."

She almost rolled her eyes. Historia pushed herself back into the water, her hair fanning out like gold twists as she floated. Nelly's "Dilemma" started playing.

"Hey, Historia," Eren said suddenly. "You never told me why you moved here."

She wanted to pretend the water gurgled his question. Gingerly, she kicked off the edge with her foot, putting a comfortable amount of space between them. She tipped her head above the water. "It's close to the beauty school I wanna go to." Which wasn't a lie. The closest big city, Trost, _was_ only less than fifteen miles away.

"So, cosmetology is what you wanna do." Eren surmised.

"Yeah," Historia replied, her tone matching his—betraying nothing. "You think it's stereotypical?"

"A little," He admitted. "But look at me—a small-town guy who wants to make music and get as far away from here as I can."

"How come?" She planted her tiptoes on the floor bed. "This town doesn't seem all that bad. It's some of the people."

"It's too predictable being here," Eren responded. "Everyone's just so comfortable doing the same thing for the rest of their lives. I hate feeling trapped. Like I'm in a cage. There's so much I wanna see—there's so much I don't know about." He sighed, pressing the pen to his temples. He shot her a wary look. "Maybe this is all just because I've never once been out of here."

Historia blinked. "Not even Disney?"

"No. My parents rarely take a break. My dad might be a doctor, but this place is so small. There's not a lot that needs to be done. Sometimes he has to find work in the hospital in Trost. And my mom's been waitressing almost her whole life."

"So, if you do this music thing, you're doing it for them?"

He paused for a few beats. "Annie's the one who wants to do it for her old man. He never made it far. This music thing's more for me."

Historia nodded. "I get that. You want to prove something to yourself. And others, I imagine."

"Yeah," Eren snorted. "I wasted a lot of time giving a shit about what my friends wanted from me, about whatever they thought I should do instead of following what I wanted since the beginning."

"Only you know what's best for you," Historia agreed, a piece of her unknotting. She swam to the edge, watching him from the side. "But what about your parents?"

He blinked, confused. "What about them?"

"Are they okay with you wanting to be a musician?"

Eren sat there for a long moment, fumbling around for an answer. "I… think if it were up to my mom, she'd have me stay at home forever. Most of the guys around here do." Historia grinned at that. _Mama's boy._ "But she's never fed me ideas about what else I should do. I do know she really wants me to go to school since she never got the chance to finish it. Be more like my father.

"My old man, on the other hand…" Eren scratched the side of his head with his pen. He peeled away pieces of hair plastered onto his neck. She tried not to stare. "I don't think he cares about what I do—as long as whatever I do makes me happy."

Historia tipped her head back, the sandstone edge digging into the nape of her neck. "You're lucky, Eren. I wish my dad was the same."

She didn't mean to let it slip, but it was too late to take it back. She needed to stop hanging around him so often.

When she looked at Eren, his head was cocked to the side, his industrial gleaming under the spotty sun peeking through the branches. "What about him? Did he kick you out?"

Historia let loose a sigh, perching her head on the sandstone. She stared at the intertwined branches above them; braided together, never letting go. She could fall asleep like this, the water enveloping her like a warm blanket. Eren was right. This cozy place calmed her with its quietude, with its steady beat. Even knowing that there were lizards around didn't bother her as much anymore.

"No." She finally told him, catching his eyes. "I came over here out of my own free will. We had a huge disagreement about how I should run my life, so I just… called for a taxi and left. I also wanted to spend time with my sister. I haven't seen much of her since she left for law school when I was twelve."

"But you're alone most of the time."

"Yeah," Historia whispered. "Guess the joke's on me." She pushed off the edge, diving underwater. She resurfaced by him, swiping a hand to clear the water dripping her face. "But I know she doesn't do it on purpose. I come from a family of workaholics."

"I hear that."

The song changed, one she didn't know. Eren had gone silent for too long. She left him alone, enjoying the warmth of the water. And then he wasn't anymore, his low voice wandering over to her over the commercial break. She didn't want to turn around, just in case he'd get spooked and stop. His voice wasn't… terrible. It wasn't a voice she'd be jumping the gun, buying concert tickets to hear, but with a lot more work, it could be smoother and leveled and worth listening to for hours. She was counting on Annie now to pull through.

Slowly, she looked over her shoulder. He was writing. Eren did that often on the bus when he didn't feel like talking. One leg propped over a knee, notebook flat, and completely concentrated. It didn't shock her at first. But he wasn't singing along to the chorus of "Where'd You Go" by Fort Minor. This was something else—she couldn't piece those words together in anything she'd ever heard.

She opened her mouth, but what came out was, "Have you ever considered being a shrink?"

Eren smiled quietly, peeking at her under his short, dark lashes. "I don't think I have the patience for it," He moved some of his hair off his forehead with the end of his pen. "It's a lot of school, too. It's like being a doctor—an endless amount of info for the rest of your life."

"I beg to differ!" She exclaimed, turning around fully. "I can be quite the handful, and you seem to put up with me just fine."

"Well," He scratched his neck, a habit she realized Eren did whenever he was nervous. "I don't… consider it 'putting up with you.' I like listening to you, Historia."

She lowered until the tip of her nose under the water. She blamed the heat tickling her cheeks on the water. Eren went back to whatever he was writing.

Historia braced herself, picking her head out. "If you're not taking notes about me, then what're you writing?"

"Something that just came to me now." He said without looking up.

She rolled her eyes, swimming to him. "No, duh."

Eren sighed, crossing his legs. Historia propped her arms back on the jagged edge, watching the myriad of expressions on his face. Reluctant to tell her. Wanted to tell her. "Okay," He conceded. "I think the song's about you. But it's also… not? I can't really explain it yet. Not until it's finished."

Her jaw nearly smashed on the sandstone. " _You're writing a song about me?!"_

Eren flared up like a fucking tomato. "I just told you it's—"

 _"Lemme see!"_ She flailed her arms. "You better be writing nice things about me!"

" _No! It's not done!_ " He tried to scoot back, but there was nowhere to run. Eren had a better chance of escaping by moving to the side. But it's not like Historia tried to pull herself out of the water.

"So are you gonna play it for me when it's done?!"

"I dunno! Lemme finish it first!"

"Well, you should play it for me! I'm delightful!"

Eren rolled his eyes, smiling quietly. "No. You're the worst."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the hot spring setting was inspired by The Half of It (which if you haven’t seen, you totally should. Nothing but pure excellence) and, yes, Eren is writing that song.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annie's song is Harry Styles' "Adore You". Starting to think I should’ve named this fic after his album, Fine Line.
> 
> Anyway, chapter 130 delivered. So did I.

Halfway home after dropping off Historia, Eren's phone buzzed. An email from Annie.

Gabi Braun threw herself on the asphalt again. Eren slammed on his brakes, his phone dropping on his lap. _She's doing this shit on purpose,_ he growled, throwing her a glare. She ignored it, bicycling back to her friends on the sidewalk, sparkling pink and blue streamers catching the dwindling twilight sky. She was so lucky she was eight and Reiner's youngest cousin. Otherwise… Eh. He wouldn't do anything. She and her little friends were annoying. Eren eyed the four of them; Zofia the first to reach Gabi and smile slyly at her. _Don't they have homework to do?_

Pulling up to the curb of Falco Grice's brick bungalow, Eren pulled his phone from his lap and parked the car. Falco's mother sat on the white porch steps, watching the kids peeling down the street with a small smile, a tray of refreshments, sandwiches, and Oreo's packets next to her. His mother used to do that for them. Armin hadn't been good at riding bikes, not without training wheels. The other six-year-olds in their class used to make fun of him for it. And his girly bike. Eren remembered taking it upon himself to teach him, let Armin use his bicycle. Mikasa was right beside them, of course. Back when she used to be superglued to Eren's side—long before Jean came and rubbed a q-tip dipped in acetone between them. The two of them spent weeks teaching Armin, zooming up and down this very same cracked pavement; the crisp wind weaving through their short hairs, coming over Eren's house every night with scraped knees and elbows, never knowing that things would come to an end between the three of them.

Eren shook his head, punching the email app on his phone. Falco and Udo flew by his passenger's side, struggling to keep up with Gabi and Zofia. Annie's email was blank but had an attachment. A music file. He knew he should wait until he got home. With Gabi's constant meddling, Eren knew he wouldn't make it home until after dark.

Eren shut off Linkin Park's new summer single and pressed the volume on his phone as high as it would go. Data be damned. He'd deal with his mom the way he always did—by getting dad on his side. Played it back two… three... Four times… He pulled his phone back. Rechecked the screen. Played it one more time.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing—and he'd _heard_ some shit in his seventeen years. It was so soft, the softest he'd heard Annie play—not counting the acoustics her father started them off on when they were kids. Clear and tangy for him to indulge. Wispy. A little jazz-infused. Pieck supplied a simple beat.

His excitement expanded over his annoyance. It wasn't his place to tell them that they shouldn't be making songs without him. At least they were. And it wasn't bad by any means. _How much weed did they smoke, though?_ Annie would never make a soft song like this without a larger purpose. _Maybe she can share next time._ He still couldn't believe he told Historia.

Catching movement, his eyes slid to the passenger side. Falco's mother stood up, calling all of them back. Eren switched the car to drive. Once all of them were bundled on the road, Eren raced home, turning the dial on the radio back up, fingers rapping quickly to the opening of AC/DC's "Thunderstruck." He needed to relax, his mind riddled with explosive thoughts. He'd only written about four good lines—two probably worth throwing away—before Historia started to get _way too_ curious. But Eren knew this wasn't how he wanted his song to sound. This wasn't going to be like whatever end of August magic happened with Annie. _This one's personal._

He parked his father's SUV behind his mother's white Yaris. _Any lyrics?_ He texted Annie, knowing he wouldn't get an immediate response. Eren stopped out into the fall chill and shivered, forgetting for one second that Historia had stolen another of his sweaters right under his nose.

After dumping the two plastic bags full of recyclables he'd collected from the train tracks, Eren followed the slated path leading up to his creaky porch. The dark curtain dimmed most of the living room—save for the part in the curtain Titan wedged herself between after sensing his presence. She licked a messy, dripping line on the window. _Almost a year old and still doesn't understand the concept of windows._ Eren grinned. _Weirdo._ He can only imagine if they had a glass sliding door instead of a regular wooden door.

He wondered briefly why his mom hadn't stopped it but got his answer once Eren opened the door. Titan barreled straight to him, bum wagging with the furious strength packed into a stubby tail. Eren picked her up like a baby. She went limp in his arms, a lazy smile adorning her mouth. _Spoiled,_ he grinned.

His mom's eyes widened as the music from the flat screen swelled to annoying heights.

"Oh, my God, Grisha! She's pregnant, isn't she?!" She asked excitedly. Carla curled in closer to his dad, and whisper-shouted. "I knew it! I knew it since last week! She was acting so weird when—"

His father shushed her hurriedly, pressing a finger to his mouth. "Just watch, Carla."

Eren never understood his father's fascination with telenovelas. Maybe it was a cultural thing. He'd roped Carla into it when they started dating, almost eighteen years ago. They tried dragging Eren into it when he was old enough. Wanted to make it a family night. But he couldn't. The shows were too overdramatized, and all of them seemed to repeat the same four or five plot lines. Sasha used to say Bollywood shows weren't any better.

"But this is so annoying!" His mom threw her hands up, uncurling from him. "Why do they drag this on for so long?"

"Entertainment," Grisha responded. "Why else, cariño?"

It smelled so good. Meat and onion, and a hint of spice. His parents hadn't noticed his arrival yet. So he was just going to be on his merry way—

"¡Papito! ¿Como estas?" Grisha beamed, pausing the show and switching on the lights, blinding the room in a white gleam. Eren and his mom squinted. "You're home early! What have you been up to? I haven't seen much of you lately."

"He estado ocupado," He let Titan down gently. She immediately rounded back, bumping her wet snout under his hand.

"Oh? With what?"

"Uh—"

Carla squinted at him, her eyes narrowing on something she didn't like. "Honey, what's wrong with your pants? Did you fall?"

Eren looked down at his ripped jeans. "No, that's the style."

Her brow rose. "Even all the _dirt_?"

"Uh. No." He pat the side of his pants, though that wouldn't help. "That's from the tracks, I guess."

"The tracks?" His mom repeated, her head shaking in bemusement. She exploded off the couch, crossing the small space between the living room and the front door. Titan scurried away, triangle ears tucked away. "You mean the _train tracks_? What were you doing all the way out there?"

Eren shrugged. "Just wanted to go somewhere. No biggie."

She hummed a disbelieving tone, raising an already arched brow higher. "I don't think you should be going out so late anymore. Not with that cold you had last week."

"Ma," He sighed exasperatedly. "I wasn't sick. I was losing my voice from practice."

She crossed her arms, staring at him skeptically. "Is that why you've been coming home so late and missing dinner? Because of the band?"

"Yeah, Annie's teaching me to sing. There's a competition in November," Eren shrugged, his mom's forehead dimpling with wrinkles. "I don't think I'm meant to sing in the song we're gonna play, but she wants me prepared."

"... Annie?" Carla was confused. "Well, that's a name I haven't heard in a while. But wait. I thought you were in a band with Armin and the boys?" She asked. "Oh! Oh, hold on. Connie quit, didn't he? Is that why—"

"It's a long story, Ma," Eren scratched the side of his head, irritable. "To make a long story short, I'm in Annie's band now. Have been for almost two months."

"Oh." Behind those deep brown eyes, things she'd been keeping a sharp eye on pieced together. His mom was way too perceptive _not_ to have noticed. He'd never been home all summer. They never came over anymore. It was only a matter of time before it dawned on Carla.

"I see," She said, squeezing his shoulders comfortingly. "I'm sorry, honey. I know you liked being with them. What happened?"

"Lots of things," Eren removed her hands, letting them go, and shoved his hands in his jeans, a picture of nonchalance. "We had a huge fight before the school year ended. Don't worry about it, ma—I like being with Annie. It's better for me."

"Not so fast, mister," She scoffed, a sound perfected from her days of ruling Shingeki High as Queen Bee. "This is the first time all of us are home in a while. Tell us about it over dinner."

"But I'm not—"

His mom was already sweeping into the kitchen.

His father rose from the couch, following her. "I grilled some burgers, mijo," Pa grinned, rubbing his hands. "I tried something a little different this time. I think you'll like it."

Eren almost cursed out loud. _That's_ why it smelled so familiar! They knew cheeseburgers—especially his dad's homemade burgers—were his weakness and could get him to do just about anything. "Fine." He grumbled, discarding his dad's keys on the keyholder.

He helped his parents set the table with mats, the Tupperware, glass plates, and glass cups before the three of them wordlessly took their usual seats—his dad at the head, mom and Eren on either side of the table.

Grisha passed him the cooked, still-warm meat. It was too quiet. He could hear the crickets already singing outside, their silverware clinking loudly on their plates, ringing in his ear. Eren could practically hear his parents' thoughts. Carla, mulling on what to say. Dad, not sure where to start either.

Mom was right. They hadn't sat down for dinner together in so long. He spent most of his evenings with Annie now. Or with Historia. And it'd been even longer since it was just the three of them at the table. The thought almost made Eren stop eating.

She poured him half a glass of Coke, and another for his dad. Eren passed the bowl of shredded lettuce to Grisha. He grilled way more patties than he should've. _Enough for five people and seconds..._

"Have you sent in your application to SHCC yet?" His mom suddenly asked, stabbing her fork into a crouton. It kept missing. She opted for a salad drenched in ranch instead of the oven-baked, sweet potato fries.

He'd been expecting her to dive right into his high school life. Over the summer, his mom wouldn't stop bumbling about how awesome her senior had been—the parties, the dances, senior-exclusive activities, the clubs in Trost's boardwalk she'd snuck into.

"No. I'm still looking," He offered. It wasn't a complete lie. He _had_ checked his emails a couple of weeks ago.

"Well, you should soon," Grisha said lightly.

She twisted her lips, her eyes flickering to his dad. "I guess it doesn't matter in the long run if you're looking towards a university—which is good! I'd rather you go to a university over a community college, anyway. Even if it is a little pricer. We can always work something out."

Eren chewed slowly, the double cheese he'd stacked overpowering the meat. "What about... if I go out of state?"

His dad blinked. Curious.

His mom just looked sad. "How far, honey?" She asked, knowing it was decided.

Eren looked down. He was right. Mom wanted him as close as possible. He kind of hated being right. "I don't know yet." _Far away._ "I haven't decided where. I just wanna be out of here by the end of next summer."

"Well." Carla said after a tense beat. Eren looked up, catching her searching gaze. "You know that's a lot more money, right?"

Something about her tone grated on his already deteriorating mood. He'd been in such a good one after hanging out with Historia. "You went out of state too, Ma."

She clenched her jaw briefly at his tone. "Yes. I know that." His mom wiped her mouth with a paper towel before setting it back down. She sighed, like this conversation already wiped her out more than it did him. "But I had a partial scholarship, and I pulled out a loan—a loan I didn't finish paying off until a few years ago."

"You still have time," His dad said, touching his hand. Eren might not be twelve again, back when he used to kick and scream and yell for no other reason than his shrimp body unable to handle his big emotions. Grisha always made sure to check him. "There's no rush, mijo. College will always be there for you whenever you're ready."

Carla shot him a warning look. "Darling."

Grisha merely shrugged, meaning every word he'd said but not caring enough to fight back, stacking fresh cut lettuce onto his hamburger. Titan whined at his dad's side, waiting expectantly. "What, cariño—it's true," His father spoke softly, an accent still clinging even after living in Marley since he was fourteen. "Going to college after high school is not a necessity."

"Unless you want to finish earlier and have a better living," Carla grumbled, crossing her arms.

"I do not disagree. But everyone's life is different." His dad changed the subject. "You do sound much better, mijo. Did you take something?"

" _Yeah_ ," Eren exasperated, ripping off another piece. He could still taste it even after a week. "My friend made me this drink. Era ambobada."

A smirk tugged on the corner of his dad's mouth. "Hot water, honey, and lemon?"

Eren blinked. "Yeah…"

Titan whined louder, pawing at his dad's chair legs.

"No, Grisha!" Carla shouted. "Get the dog away! You know she's not allowed at the table! We already fed her—tell her to go away!"

His dad grinned, ripping off a piece of meat and dangling it above Titan's head. She responded in ferocity, nearly biting his hand off. "Nothing wrong with a little treat every now and then, Carla."

"She's going to get fat at the rate you're going!" She looked pointedly at Eren, who shrugged, ripping off a piece too. Carla huffed, folding her arms over her chest. "You two spoil that dog so much."

"It is what it is." Eren pet her body. "Hey, Pa, how'd you—"

Grisha winked. "Soy doctor, papito. I have to know these things."

"Right."

"Your abuela used to give me the same thing when I was a little boy," He elaborated, getting up and washing his hands. "Nothing like nature's remedies. She called today, by the way. Call her back when you get a chance."

Eren muttered, "Sure thing," getting up once his father sat down and washed his hands. He knew he wouldn't. Eren loved abuela. She made the best-glazed ham when she came over for Nochebuena and New Year's Eve. And she always smelled like mangos. But no. Calling abuela meant a whole lot of her talk talk _talking,_ complaining about how skinny he was, and wondering if he'd spoken to any of the primos he'd never met in his life. Then she'd hand off the phone to abuelo. Eren had precious phone minutes to think about.

"Isn’t she coming over next weekend?"

"Yes."

Carla sipped her sweet tea, eyeing him above the glass. "So. Who's this _friend_ of yours?" She asked, tapping a finger on the rim of her drink. He didn't miss the way her eyes strayed to the empty seats. "I thought we knew all your friends."

Eren schooled his face, reaching for another bun when he sat down. He stabbed his fork into a meat patty, hauling it onto his plate. He focused his attention on stacking another cheeseburger together with tomatoes and grilled vegetables this time. He wasn't _that_ hungry, not after scarfing down almost all of the gingerbread cookies Historia brought with her to the tracks. How did she make something so simple taste like nothing he'd ever had before?

"She just moved here a couple of months ago."

She tipped forward, interested. "What's her name?"

"Historia."

Carla nodded slowly. "Is she cute?"

Eren stopped the burger centimeters from his mouth. " _Mom_." He was so glad he didn't have a Facebook. She would've somehow learned more about Historia than he knew.

"What, it's a valid question!" Mom retorted. "You can't tell me you've never noticed how all your girl friends are so cute, Eren!" He didn't get to answer, his mom gushing on, "Especially Mikasa! Haven't you seen how beautiful she's gotten over the years?"

Grisha shrugged. "Ella se ve muy normal, pero tiene pelo hermoso."

His mom sneered at him. "Well, it doesn't matter now, I guess. She's still with the mayor's boy." Carla sighed. "I just wish you'd realize your potential, Eren! You're so handsome, and you're a magnet for cute girls."

"Your new friend," His dad cut in, his eyes gleaming. "¿Ella es—"

"Her dad thought the word sounded nice."

Grisha rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Claro que sí," He fixed his glasses up the bridge of his broad nose. "They always do."

His mom grinned, for different reasons. "So? When will Historia come over? I'd love to meet her. Why don't you invite her on Sunday?"

He… hadn't thought about that. _She's alone a lot._ And he was starting to run out of places to show her. _Why not just let her come over?_ "Never."

Carla gasped. "And why not?!"

He couldn't believe he had to say it. "'Cause you're embarrassing, Ma."

"I am not!"

Grisha stared at the table. Titan whined for more food.

"Oh, c'mon, Grisha! I am not!" Eren tried not to laugh. Carla whirled on him. "Armin and Mikasa like me, don't they? They don't think I'm embarrassing, right?!"

The smile slipped.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to bring it up. He could read it on his parents' faces. They wanted to listen, eager to. They'd have some insightful thing to say. About why all the things they planned and the promises they made as children would never happen. About where it went so wrong. If it was really all his fault for wanting to make something of himself and get out of this place.

But Eren didn't. Shame coiled his neck like a snake squeezing the life out of its prey. He kept his eyes glued to the mahogany of their dining table. Eren couldn't cry. He was barely even angry. Just numb.

He didn't know how to break it to them. How to tell him that his irreplaceable friendship with these two people sliced clean beyond tailoring. They loved Armin and Mikasa like their own kids, evidenced by every square inch of this house. His dad's neon desk lamp, the soju cups in their cabinets, the stovetop grill—Christmas gifts from Mikasa's parents. Candles, Tiffany lamps, and the photograph frames all gifts from Armin's grandfather. So many birthdays, so many holidays together. Almost twelve years of school pictures and graduations.

Eren didn't know when it all fell apart.

* * *

Everyone would be here. _Everyone._ Eren _loathed_ pep rallies.

One of the first to arrive in the gym, he trudged to the very top of the wooden bleachers. He pressed his back against the polished wall, backpack nestled between his feet. He didn't want to be here, but Historia said he'd look like a _pretty shitty boyfriend_ —not her exact words, but it wasn't far off from how she'd worded it last night—if he weren't out here to support his girl. Even if they were just pretending.

So. Eren was stuck.

The Paradis and Shingeki High flags draped against the wall billowed softly with the whoosh of air from the doors opening and closing. The faculty allowed the cheerleaders to decorate the space with custom signs depicting the eagles pecking the fleeing devils—the private schoolboys' mascot. More students trickled in, sneakers squelching on the court floor, boots stomping. One of the staff threw the door open, locked it into place, let the crisp breeze mingle with the air conditioning.

Eren tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Annie had finally responded to him last night while his mother yapped about college and his future.

"I know it seems like a long way from now, Eren." Mom had said, the awkward silence that had passed over them doing a vicious circle back to the earlier topic. She wouldn't let it go away that easily. "But you should get a move on. Your father and I aren't sick. You won't have a reason to not finish school like I did."

Eren had retorted, "It's not like you can't go back now if you really wanted to, Ma." He'd glanced at dad. He'd been trying to teach Titan to roll over, using the piece of meat as a treat. "He won't stop you."

"He's right," Grisha had confirmed. "I've been telling you to go back to school for years, cariño. You still have plenty of time."

Carla had sighed, dumping her chin on her fist. "Yes. I know."

Eren had scrubbed a hand along his dry face, the nape of his neck itchy. He needed a shower. His second cheeseburger sat on the plate, half-finished. Growing colder by the second.

Discussions of college, money, and the impending future, more plans that might never happen, always left him queasy. Music would work out. There was no other option for him. How was he supposed to think about college at a time like this?

"I'm just saying, Ma," He'd finally said after a little bit of a lapse. "Our lives aren't the same."

"No," She'd agreed, smiling, "But we're very similar, Eren." Mom spared him a once-over, pointing her fork at him with a piece of meat dug in. Yes, she ate her burgers by cutting them into squares. "And at the rate you're going, you're going to end up like me."

Eren had leaned back on his chair. "Would that be so bad?" He'd examined her thoroughly—the healthy glow of her unblemished, naturally tan skin. Her soft hands and clean nails. She was still young, fifteen years younger than Grisha. "You're happy. Right?"

"Of course I'm happy, I have you." She splayed her fingers. "I mean, it happened a lot earlier than I intended, but I don't regret it." Carla propped her elbows on the table, clasping her hands. She laid her head on top, staring at him with an unwavering gaze—a little intimidating. "I just want better for you, Eren."

"I get that." And he had. Still did.

She gnawed on her lop, glancing at Grisha. For support. She must've feared whatever she'd said next would set him off like a volcano, spilling lava. "I don't want the music industry to be your only option. It's a tough world out there, honey, and... I'm always scared of what'll happen to you if you don't make it."

He'd been about to launch when Carla continued—careful and deliberate, each word sinking in like a needle to his heart. "Have you thought about doing something a little more practical? A job in technology, maybe?" She'd asked so kindly Eren couldn't find it in himself to be as mad as he'd been seconds before. "I don't want you to fail and have nothing else to fall back on. It's always good to have more than one idea of what you want to do." She'd paused, drumming her fingers on her knuckles. "Have you considered asking Armin to teach you about web design? I'm sure he'd love to. What about Bertolt and computers?"

He hadn't meant for it to come out so sharp and coarse, especially when his mother winced as if she'd said something wrong, but it'd been too late to take it back. "We're not talking anymore, Ma."

"Oh. I see." She'd bit her lip in apprehension, glancing at Grisha. He'd looked just as surprised to hear it. "I'm sorry, honey."

Eren shrugged. "It's not your fault."

"Eren..." Grisha had trailed off. Hearing dad's pensive tone struck a cord—a nasty one.

Her eyes danced across the unoccupied seats at the table again, and Eren already knew what was next. The real set of questions she'd been dying to get answers for all summer long. He'd hardened his insides. "Did you two get into a fight?" She'd paused, observing him and Eren hoped he gave nothing away. "... Does this mean you're not speaking to Mikasa either? Is that why they haven't been over?"

He shoved his chair back, the legs scraping loud against the wooden floor. "Yeah. But that's a different story and different reasons."

His father's brows bunched. "Do you want to—"

"No." Eren cut him off, nabbing his plate and those of his parents. "It's their fault, anyway."

A hot shower did nothing to relax him. After washing the dishes and ignoring his parents' gloomy looks, Eren dropped into his old, creaky computer chair, contemplating tonight's plans. He'd finished most of his homework during lunch. He'd picked up his black-bodied Fender.

Titan had leaped onto his striped comforter, circling around for about six rotations before finding a comfortable spot. She usually slept with him. Sometimes she'd sneak out during the night. Eren would find her squeezed between his parents like their other baby. He always wondered why he didn't have a sibling. Mom was still young. _Then again, Pa's pretty old_. Shy of fifty-five. His old man didn't have it in him for another kid, calm and compassionate as he was.

Annie said she'd send him her lyrics soon. She was still coming up with them. She'd sent him the sheet music in the meantime, telling him to check his email whenever he got another chance. He'd decided now was a good idea, pulling his wet hair back into a bun and tuned his Fender, propping it on his thigh.

Plugging his earphones in, Eren followed the sheet music pulled on his Dell, guiding himself to Pieck's mellow beat on a low volume. Let the music carry away all his aggravations and the suffocating discontent swirling through him. Float him away from his place for an hour or so... He didn't think it would take him long to get the song right.

He got a little tired of practicing without Annie around to guide him through how she wanted it to sound. He pulled up a freestyle playlist he'd put together on YouTube—mostly Johnny O. and Stevie B.. His phone had buzzed. He'd reached for it, expecting Armin, knowing it wasn't Mikasa because it was late, and she worked around this time and was shocked to see it was Historia.

He'd popped out one bud and squashed the phone between his shoulder and free ear.

She'd pounced straightaway. "Did you get home okay?!"

"Yeah? Why? Something wrong?"

She'd scoffed that disbelieving, mean girl kind of scoff that was kind of... hot. "Didn't I tell you to call me when you got home?!"

"... Yeah, sorry... I completely forgot..."

"No shit! You had me all worried and shit!"

"Historia," Eren had started, unable to explain why he'd begun feeling a little flustered. He felt like that a lot around Historia. He'd scratched the back of his neck, pressed his fingers to the spot under his collar. "We live three blocks away. Nothing's gonna happen to me."

"Well! I didn't know that!"

"Don't worry, I'm fine," Eren had tucked one leg under himself. At least he didn't have to worry about minutes. It was past eight-thirty in the evening, so unlimited minutes started. "Are you okay?"

She'd paused, taken aback by his sincerity. "Y—Yeah, totally fine."

"Are you still nervous about tomorrow?"

"A little bit. Pep rallies always make me nervous."

She'd mentioned having to host another pep rally a couple of times during the week. Too exhausted from practicing to even speak much to him in the mornings. She mostly took a nap on his arm. "How come?"

She'd sighed. "It's a lot more pressure than performing at a normal game."

"Yeah? How so?"

"Well, from what they'd been making me practice, there are a lot more stunts involved in a pep rally. And it's a much bigger crowd—hm, no, bigger isn't it. It's more like too many familiar faces watching. At least when it's a game on the field, I can't see much of the crowd with the lights in my face." Historia had paused. "I dunno, I guess I'm scared I'll mess up. Ruth's been watching me like a vulture lately and... Yeah. It's a hell of a lot more pressure to perform."

He'd never heard her be so unconfident before. He didn't like it. "I think you'll do great."

"T—Thanks." She'd sputtered, a page flipping loudly on her end. _Probably reading another book._ She'd finished Gillian Flynn's _Sharp Objects_ yesterday, so he wasn't sure what she was reading now. "But... you should tell that to Hitch. She's the captain."

"Well, you're a reflection of her," He'd reasoned. "So, if she's great, then you'll be too."

The silence that had stretched between them was a little awkward. _Did I say something wrong?_ Eren checked the phone, but Historia hadn't hung up. He chose not to press the subject.

He'd unpaused the video and tugged out his headphones.

"Are you listening to Stevie B.?!" She'd marveled.

"I _was_ before you called."

She laughed. "That's cute! It's not a genre for everyone. Finding someone who likes it doesn't come around often."

"I can tell. It's a little weird. But it's also interesting. I like it," Eren said. "I had to take a break from working on a song—"

"Aww, were you writing my song?" Eren had frowned at the computer screen. "Aw, don't be like that, Eren! I wanna hear it!" She'd teased. " _Please?”_

 _I should've never fucking told her_. Eren massaged his temples while she cackled at his embarrassment on the other end. Like she needed an even bigger head. _I should've never told her!_ Why'd _I tell her?!_ He didn't know what happened in that particular moment, why his stupid fucking brain just decided to spit it out like a sacked copy machine.

What was it about this little over five-foot human being that filled him up with hot air and left him constricting for words?

"No." He’s denied hotly. "It's a song Annie's making. She just sent it to me, so I'm practicing it before she chews my ass out about it."

"Can I hear it?"

Would that even be okay? He knew he should've asked Annie, but there was something about Historia that Eren felt like he had to share everything with. He'd closed out of Youtube and played the file for her.

"It sounds pretty." She'd commented.

His laptop had blooped then. Another new email from Annie, according to the flash box at the bottom right corner of his screen before it disappeared. "Yeah, I like it a lot. I still can't believe Annie came up with this."

"Do you now?" Historia had asked ruefully. "Hitch says she's talented. Like, Pink Floyd talented."

He'd opened Outlook, waiting for the program to load up. "Yeah, and I love Pink Floyd—" She'd scoffed at that. "—they're about as soft as it gets for me."

"What about The Beatles? Doesn't everyone and their mother love them?" She'd said airily. "Especially right now. It's, like, The Beatles and Nirvana resurgence."

"Do you?" He'd asked genuinely.

She'd debated for a second. "Not really. Just that one song."

He'd quirked his brow high. "Which one of the many? They've got, like, two hundred songs, Historia."

"Of course you'd know. _Snob._ " He'd felt Historia's eye roll from three blocks away. "I'm talking about 'Something.'"

He'd shrugged a shoulder. "Jon and Paul are kinda overrated, anyway."

"Oh, c'mon. It's a nice song!" She'd insisted. "My ex dedicated it to me."

"If that's the case—"

The words had died on his tongue. Outlook had finally opened up to Annie's email. His jaw had clanged on the desk. Not literally, but he might as well be a cartoon character with a wide-open mouth and bugged eyes. He couldn't stop staring at it. His eyes ran through the lines, threading the song in his mind.

Eren had blinked once. Twice. The cheesy words didn't disappear. The melody in his head didn't stop.

Holy. Shit.

"Eren? Where'd you go?"

He'd closed his mouth, picked his brain back up from the sudden drop-off. "Hey. Historia?"

"... That's my name, yes?" She'd sounded confused by his sudden urgency.

"Promise me you won't tell _anyone_ what I'm about to tell you," Eren had added resolutely, "Especially _not_ Hitch."

"Sounds easy enough," She'd said. "You and Hitch are the only people I talk to."

He hadn't known that. The knowledge made him sad, scraped against his heart. He'd rubbed the back of his neck, biting the inside of his cheek. Was it his fault—because she chose to hang around a recluse like him?

"Sorry..."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. It's not your fault." She'd paused, searching for something to add. "Besides. I'm picky when it comes to friends, so _you_ should be grateful!"

He'd smiled at her attempt. "Yeah, I guess so," Eren had straightened in his chair, about to deliver the goods. "So... Annie told me a long time ago she wanted to write a song for Hitch... And... I think this is it."

"You're sure?"

"Gotta be. She just sent me the music sheet with the lyrics."

" _Wow!"_ Historia had marveled. "So, now what? You're gonna sing it?" She'd sounded so excited—the same amount of excitement she'd had last week until she found out there was a lot of walking in the woods and being around lizards involved.

Eren had pulled his lips to keep from laughing, situating his Fender properly on his lap. "As long as you don't tell Hitch." He leaned into the phone, begging, "Historia. _Please,_ don't tell Hitch. I don't beg, and I'm _begging_ you not to—"

"I already said I wouldn't! Calm down! You're such a crybaby!"

The corner of his mouth had curled into a half-smile. "And don't make fun of my singing either. I'm still learning."

She'd hummed, loud and thoughtful and dragging, sounding like she'd actually been debating. Then, Historia had sighed, like the idea had mentally exhausted her _not_ to do. "Oh-kay. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this _time_ around—but I'm totally deducing some cool guy points."

His brows had furrowed deeply. He was glad Historia couldn't see the confusion mounting on his face. "... You think I'm a cool guy?"

"I dunno—kind of? You're very James Dean in _Rebel Without a Cause_ type of guy." She'd paused. "Just replace the red jacket with a black one. And longer hair… _Maybe_ not as smooth as he was in that movie."

Eren had run a hand over the top of his head and asked, "Can we switch to MSN? I can't play with you in my ear like this."

The first thing Eren had noticed was the color of her walls. They were a shocking shade of olive-green and bare—though he'd expected that part. But he'd been expecting pink. Lots of it. She wore _a lot_ of pinks. And white. Small Eiffel Towers and pink and black and red hearts splashed across her white comforter with Paris scrawled in a black cursive font.

Then he'd taken in Historia—on her side, dressed in her tank top and the same sleep shorts from Monday. None of his sweaters in sight. She'd worn his shirt a week ago at the hot spring, and he'd been sort of dying to see her in his clothes again. The light from the lava lamp—he couldn't believe she had one of those!—brushed the expanse of her thighs, dotting them in tottering circles of red and shades of black. She didn't have her hair up, a chunk of it falling across a bare shoulder.

He'd swallowed the lump stuck in his throat and looked elsewhere.

He'd propped his guitar into a firmer position on his thigh. Rustling on the other end of his Dell caught his attention. He'd risked another peek. There'd been a textbook peeking out on the very edge of her screen that Eren hadn't noticed before. It wasn't close enough for him to see the subject, just that it was thick and _open._

"Look at you actually doing homework," He marveled. "How's it feel to be a good kid?"

"Listen." Historia had articulated, and Eren's smirk stretched across his entire mouth. "As long as it's for Mr. Smith, I'll do _anything_ he wants."

He'd stopped, raised his head, his mouth twisting into a frown. "He's a teacher, Historia."

"Yeah, _so?_ He's a hot teacher—I can't help it!" Historia had frowned, equally ticked. She'd squinted into her webcam, discreetly sliding the history textbook further aside though Eren had watched in amusement. "Hey. If it's jealousy that's got you this way, there's no need to be. You're good looking too—"

He'd rolled his eyes.

She'd pursed her lips, eyes narrowing further, trying to decipher him like a code. "Oh, come on. You've _never_ had a teacher's crush, Eren?"

"No, I really haven't."

Historia had openly gaped. "You have to be _kidding!"_

"They're adults, Historia." He'd tried to reason. Her mouth continued to hang open. "We're still kids. They could go to jail… It's just weird..."

"It's a fantasy!" She'd countered. "It's not supposed to come to life. I don't want it to be real—but it's nice to imagine."

"Still doesn't make it not a bizarre fantasy, though."

" _You're_ bizarre," She'd retorted. "I can't believe you've never had a raging boner for a teacher!"

He'd rolled one shoulder, his fingers prepped, curled, and ready on the fret. "Aren't we all bizarre, Historia? Didn't you learn anything after watching _The Breakfast Club_ the other day?"

Historia scoffed at his rhetoric, tossing her hair behind her. Just a few short hours ago, their feet dangling off the roof of the abandoned concourse, the sunset had been streaking through her hair. Eren didn't think he'd ever seen someone so pretty, someone so at ease.

"I was busy deciding whether I wanted Bender or Allison." Her lips had stretched into a roguish smile while Eren shook his head, trying not to smile. She flopped on her back, fixing him a knowing glare. "I should've figured you'd self-insert into Andrew even though you dress more like a Bender. What's next—you got daddy issues like they did?"

"No parental issues here." He'd smirked when her face fell. "I worked it all out when I was thirteen. My mom and I are fine now."

She'd rolled her eyes. "You're so _boring_ sometimes."

Eren had continued to grin. "Like you didn't self-insert in Allison even though you dress more like a Claire."

She'd clamped her mouth into a line, caught, and Eren laughed. "Just play the song already," She muttered.

His apprehension had spiked, his fingers breaking into dithers. He'd played for Historia before, but he'd been angry then and needed an outlet. Music was always the best remedy for him. This time had been a lot different. The nature of the melody, coupled with Annie's lyrics. He wasn't sure why his heart was in a panic.

Annie had instructed him _never_ to take a deep breath before singing. _Causes too much tension,_ Annie had said, _you're singing from your chest, not your_ _throat_. She'd even pressed her hands against his chest for him to feel out the vibrations with her slight pressure. _You need to be relaxed at all times—no matter what you're singing._ Pieck had nodded in agreement, the back-up singer.

At that moment with Historia, his heart had been _this_ close to imploding in his chest. If he _had_ to give a shit about singing, why'd he agree to _this_ song? God, he hoped he didn't get this nervous on stage.

Eren had taken a deep, surprisingly steady breath and cracked his neck. He hadn't felt any better, not when he'd been forging all of Annie's teaching. But it was too late to back out now. He wasn't one to back away, no matter how scary. He was a person of his word.

Historia had watched him quietly on the other end of the MSN Video Call, elbow propped on her bed, cheek pressed to her fist, side part falling across her forehead. Eyes interested.

He'd wiggled his fingers, releasing some tension, and, like the sheet ordered, Eren had started off with a C Minor.

" _Walk in your rainbow paradise… Strawberry lipstick state of mind_ …" Eren dipped his chin slightly. " _I get so lost inside your eyes—would you believe it?"_

"That's _so_ romantic." Historia swooned, cupping her cheeks comically.

He'd tried not to flush, his nerves already cackling throughout his body. "I'm not done."

"Sorry, maestro!"

He'd narrowed his eyes playfully, continuing where he left off, the pre-chorus picking up a flourish. " _You don't have to say you love me… I just wanna tell you something... Lately, you've been on my mind..."_

It wasn't much. The first verse, Eren guessed, along with a pre-chorus and the chorus. Titan had roused from her snooze and started howling off-key to his playing. He'd had to break off several times and try to shush her. When he'd started back up, the same thing. His parents should've been asleep by then. _Damn, I should've gone outside._ It would've been easier playing in the comfort of the dark too.

Historia had eventually yelled, "Lemme see her!"

He'd rolled his eyes but couldn't tell her no, and swerved his laptop to the side. Titan's stub of a tail had softly thumped on his bed, honey eyes blinking at the computer screen.

"Hi, pretty baby!" She'd gushed, though Titan couldn't hear. "When are you gonna let me babysit, Eren?!"

"You can't have my dog, Historia."

When he'd rotated his Dell back, Historia was making a face—that puppy dog face; deep frown, her eyes real lovely and bigger than usual.

"That doesn't work on me." He'd said. "But I'll let you come over sometime."

" _Whatever,_ it'll work one day!" She'd huffed, flipping onto her back, her willowy profile awash with the distorted shapes from the lava lamp. "Anyway. I liked it a lot. Your voice wasn't terrible—you're still working on it. So, don't feel too bad if it's not up to parr with your playing." She'd turned her head to him, hair sweeping across her eyes again. "Annie's had years of practice, and you're just starting out. It'll come with time. I know you're impatient, but have _some_ patience, okay?"

He'd smiled slightly, resting his chin on top of his hand on the curve bout. "Thanks, Historia."

She'd abruptly turned her face away from him, touching the ends of her hair before she'd decided to maneuver into a sitting position, taking her laptop with her. "So. Um. I think we should..." Historia had pressed against her white and pink pillows, laptop probably set on another pillow on her legs to keep the heat away. _Seriously, why do girls always have so many pillows?_ Even Mikasa slept with a mountain pile of slate grey and ruby red pillows. "...talk about this, uh, _thing_ we're doing."

"What about it?"

"Like." She'd clucked her tongue. "How we need to do… a little more. And discuss what's off-limits."

He'd cocked his head. "What's wrong with what we're doing now?" They didn't do much as it was. The most they ever did was hold hands. Kind of all the time, it was second nature. He walked her to class, walked her home. They'd _just_ entered hugging territory. Although, Eren would be lying if he said he hadn't felt like holding her hand when they were on the tracks. But he knew it was uncalled for. It wasn't a date. He was showing her around—like he'd promised, as part of their arrangement.

"It's not getting you any results, is it?"

He'd shut his mouth. He hadn't seen any sign of Mikasa since that confrontation in the garden. He'd honestly forgotten about it.

Historia continued, "People look at us and think we're friends, Eren. Even my squad's starting to wonder things. And if they start wondering, then so will the guys on the team. So I wanted to know if there are any, like, rules we should stick to. What to do and what not to do." She'd glanced at him, hesitant. "I don't want either of us giving each other the wrong idea."

"Are you okay?"

"Uh. Yeah. Why?"

"You seem nervous."

She'd rolled her shoulders. "Just wanna make sure we're on the same page—that's all. I want us both to get what we want out of this."

He'd rubbed his head. "... Do we have to talk about this right now, though? Can we save it for…" _Not tomorrow._ Pep rally. Game. Practice. "...later?"

Historia's long, dark lashes had fluttered—and, shit, if she kept doing that, he might actually cave one day. "What, do you have somewhere else to be right now?"

"Yeah. Sleeping," He'd deadpanned. "We have school in the morning. I wake up early to jog."

She'd rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "I know that, _nerd._ But you're going to the rally, right?"

"Uh. No."

She'd blinked in the utmost disbelief. "Eren. You _have_ to go." Historia had stated it like it wasn't optional.

His mouth had twisted into a scowl. "Why do I _have_ to go, Historia?" He'd propped his Fender on the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm probably gonna sneak into the band room while everyone's out."

"Because I'm a cheerleader!" She'd shouted like that answered everything.

Eren hadn't gotten it. "Okay? _And?"_

Historia had dropped her face in her hands. "Eren," She'd started, kneading her temples. "Am I the only one serious about any of this? We're supposed to be _dating_ , remember? I'm a _cheerleader._ " She'd repeated, enunciating. "This is a _school event_. Do the math!"

However irritated Historia was, she'd waited patiently for Eren to catch on. And he had, grimacing. He'd massaged his forehead much like her. _Why does Historia_ have _to be a goddam cheerleader?_

"It looks super shitty on you if you don't show up to support your girlfriend—" Historia had added hastily, "—pretend girlfriend or not. _See_ , this is exactly what I mean about us needing to talk about it! We need a set of rules! People will start talking!"

Eren had face-planted his desk and groaned.

If Historia had been anyone else, he would've told her to fuck off. It wasn't like she could've _made_ him go. But Historia was different. They were stuck together. Because of him, because of her. Because Reiner couldn't define a line, and because Mikasa chose Jean over him—a fact Eren couldn't get over. He knew she'd grow some sense soon and dump Jean flat on his ass. She would. She had to. She'd done it once before; she'd do it again. There was no other choice. This would all be pointless if Mikasa didn't come around.

"Okay, fine!" He'd held up a finger and picked up his head, meeting Historia's beaming face. He'd faltered, just a little. "But I'm only going this one time," Eren warned. "One. Time. Historia. _And you owe me!"_

She'd ended the call with a big, triumphant grin, her one dimple flaring. And a goodnight.

Something squashed against his face, pressing his nose so far back it almost cracked.

Eren jolted back to a harsh reality; his world a swirl of white pages and blue lines and the invading smell of fresh ink.

"I finished it last night," Annie announced, proud.

Eren snatched the composition book from her, rubbed his nose with his other hand. It stung a little bit, and he hoped there wasn't any ink residue.

Annie plopped down by his side, sliding her guitar off her shoulder, giving him time to take in the completed piece. _Beautiful,_ was the only way he could think of describing it, already hearing it in his mind's eye. Still, the word didn't feel adequate.

"Diablo—how much did you smoke yesterday?"

She fingered the fray ends of her hair, her silver rings sparkling. "Pieck felt like sharing. It was great stuff—don't look at me like that, asshole. It's okay to do it every once in a while."

"Not judging you there," Eren shook his head. "But what're you doing here, Annie?"

Annie snorted, like she couldn't believe why he'd ask such a stupid question. "Have you forgotten who my girlfriend is?" She pointed at the shiny court floor where students were still gushing in streams through the doors. "I might not give a shit about school functions after hours, but the least I can do for Hitch is be here for the events during school hours."

 _We're on the same boat_ , Eren wanted to say. But he hadn't told Annie. He'd divided his time equally between Annie and Historia, and he never felt the need to say anything. Annie didn't care for rumors, so she'd never know what's going on. _Unless Hitch tells her._

His words perished when he surveyed the rest of the gym. The bleachers on his side of the court were near capacity, high school spirit sprinkled everywhere in the crowd. Nobody wanted to sit close to them, but there wasn't an array of choices left. Most of the senior class occupied the bleachers on the other side of the court, including _them_ , taking up the front row.

Armin adjusted his glasses to the bridge of his nose, eyes glued to the thick book perched on his lap. Mikasa sat next to him, Jean's arm wrapped and secured tightly around her shoulders, confident she'd never leave his side again. Marco, sitting behind them, told both of them something; a grin stretching Jean's mouth, a quiet smile flicking Mikasa's lips.

Eren wanted to smack that rich kid, pretty boy grin right off his fucking horse face. His lips curled when his eyes trailed down to the black guitar case tucked under Jean's feet. _So the band's still going strong even though he 'lacks.'_

Tearing his eyes away from them, Eren focused slightly above. Reiner sat next to Marco, talking to a haggard-looking Bertolt over his shoulder, already dressed in his basketball uniform. _Yeah, definitely spent the night playing_ RuneScape. The Galliard brothers flanked Reiner's sides—both of them tapping furiously on their phones. Funny how he wanted unlimited texting not too long ago.

Mikasa's eyes found him across the room. Eren looked away hastily, only for him to meet Annie's curious eyes. Her cerise-tinted lips were pulled into a scowl she wore so well. "What's up with you? You dropped off the face of the Earth."

Was it really two weeks ago when Mikasa cornered him? He really had forgotten about it, all thanks to Historia. Seeing Mikasa now, though… Seeing _him,_ and all of them… To say Eren hadn't spent some nights wondering about what Jean's reaction would be if he ever found out what happened, if Mikasa ever did grow up and dump him, would be a lie.

Eren wasn't angry anymore. Just sad.

He scratched the side of his jaw. "It's nothing, Annie."

"Ahuh. And I'm one of Karl Fritz's daughter's."

He didn't want to talk about it any more than he already had. Annie didn't understand. She had shit all figured out. So Eren spun the wheel back, a topic she wouldn't change. "The song's great, but the lyrics are cheesy."

She gathered her frizzy hair and clipped it back with a baby blue hair clip that didn't match her blood-red shirt and leather jacket. "It's supposed to be cheesy—it's romance." Annie flicked a piece of her hair off her jacket, shaking her head in dismay. "The great thing about love songs is laying out all your corny desires. Girls eat it right up."

"I know. I just didn't think you had it in you."

"Says the one who doesn't get any on the regular."

"Only because—" Eren shook his head. "Never mind. I liked it a lot, though."

"As you should."

He looked at her sidelong, grinning slyly. "Are you gonna play it for her?"

That cocky demeanor she'd arrived with vanished. "I don't know yet." Annie spared him a peek from the curve of her shoulder. Embarrassed. She was a tense and uptight person, but it wasn't often to see her so… nervous. "Pieck says I should play it at our next wedding gig… Whenever that is. We haven't signed the contract yet, since the bride isn't sure if she wants it in December or January."

Eren nodded. "I'm in."

"I don't remember giving you much of a choice," She said snidely right as the fanfare of the school band started, the color guard with their flags falling in.

The music from the school band was horrendous—a mash-up of four songs. Percussions blaring at incredible heights, enough to cause an eardrum explosion—Connie at the source. Too much bass banging a perplexing beat. Eren wanted ear muffs. Really, he wanted to sneak out. But he promised Historia. So Eren propped his elbows on his thighs and watched, miserable.

The cheerleaders skipped out of the locker rooms, shaking their white and gold glittered pom-pom's, their Eagle mascot hot on the last girl's trail. The crowd roared in approval. The chant was pretty good—an old crowd sing-a-long he'd heard years prior, back freshman year when Reiner landed a spot on the junior varsity football team. Eren used to go to some of the games with his friends. Armin had a weak stomach, sick over concession nachos. Jean really loved dunking ICEE's on them, especially on Connie's bald head once. Just because. Those were fun times.

Eren wanted to focus on Historia. She was the only reason why he bothered showing up. And the mascot missing the dunks was hilarious enough. It should've kept him even more occupied and entertained. But like a fucking magnetic pull, Eren just couldn't _stop_ looking at them.

Armin's eyes were big, flinching as the girls did their toe-touches in midair. Marco looked on, equally scandalized. Jean and Mikasa wore matching expressions, both equally enthralled and also bewildered. He'd slid his arm from around her shoulder to rest comfortably around the small of her back, hand on her hip. Mikasa fiddled with the tattered ends of her black scarf— _Eren's_ black scarf.

Their performance ended—thankfully—shortly after. Eren couldn't take it, fighting between the plums of rage sopping his stomach and keeping calm. The student body erupted into another crescendo roar when all the basketball boys descended from the stands, but he could barely hear it. Catching Bertolt almost tripping on the way down lightened his mood just slightly. The cheerleaders shuffled off to the side, arms looped together. Hitch searched through the crowds until she found them in the bleachers, sliding the two of them a sly smile.

Onyankopon took the mic. The Activities Director reminded them of upcoming events—fundraisers, more varsity games, at home and not. Club meetings. Festivals. The Halloween fair. Eren did want to go to the Halloween fair and winter festival. Those were always fun, but that all depended on Annie.

Once Onyankopon wrapped things up, the student body blasted from their seats.

" _Baby!"_

" _Oh, shit,_ " Annie whined under her breath, rising up from her seat begrudgingly. She grabbed the strap of her guitar case and stomped down the bleachers like an angry grandma.

Eren covered his mouth, stifling his laugh, and followed her down.

Hitch bounced, her soft wavy hair splaying all around her. She pumped her arms in the air like a signal, pom-pom waving free even though Annie wasn't far, just a few steps high. A few of the cheerleaders rolled their eyes and filed past them, heading towards the locker rooms. Historia watched curiously, aiming an amused smile at him over Ms. Brzenska's side. Eren shrugged, which only made her shake her head and return to her conversation with her coach.

Hitch snagged her arms around Annie's shoulders, crushing her face to her chest. "I'm so glad you came, baby!" She pulled back quickly, fixing Annie's hair. "Do you have practice today?"

"You know I do," Annie mumbled, red-faced. She was _not_ one for PDA. Still, she wound her arms around Hitch.

"Aww," Hitch frowned. "I wish you could stop by my game. I'm really nervous." Damn, she was laying it on _thick._ Is this where Historia got it from?

Hitch's honey eyes flashed to him. "Change her mind, Eren." She demanded.

He cleared his throat to keep from laughing. Annie narrowed her eyes. "No point. She doesn't listen to me, either."

She shook her head, pulling away but keeping her arm around Annie's shoulders. "You guys are incredibly stubborn. Oh! By the way—how's my song coming along?" Hitch squeezed her. "When can I hear it?"

Eren offered a tight-lipped smile, raising his brows at Annie. "It's not ready yet."

If looks could kill, he'd be at the bottom of the sea. But as long as Annie was subdued by Hitch, he could get away with almost anything right now. And he took full advantage of those moments. So Eren laughed.

"Aw. Boo. No fun," She pouted. "I figured you prodigies would've had it done by now." Hitch looked back down at Annie. "C'mon, baby. Please, come to my game—just this once. I won't bother you for the rest of the year."

Annie's face withered. "You know I don't like sports..."

Hitch poked her cheek. "It's just for today. I promise." She continued before Annie could protest, "It's the first game out of school, and I'm nervous and could _really_ use the support. You don't even have to stay the whole time. Just come for halftime and leave."

Annie's mouth twitched, a little weak to Hitch's pleading. "... We're already behind because I have to teach a certain _someone_ how to sing."

"Oh. Yeah," Hitch said nonchalantly, waving a hand toward him like it wasn't a big deal. Because it isn't to her. "Historia told me about that. You'll pick it up in no time." Her mouth stretched into a demure little smile. "Oh. And, just so you know, she told me _all_ about yesterday. And the week before that. You need to show me these places—I've never heard of them."

Eren froze.

"What's going on?" Annie's eyes darted between them, so confused, especially when Eren kept silent, almost in admission. "Who's Historia?"

"Oh?" Hitch said. "Eren didn't tell you? She's—"

"Don't tell her, Hitch!" He waved his hands frantically, about to surge and clamp his hands over her loud mouth.

Now Annie was even more confused. "Why not?"

"Yeah, Eren," Hitch said, mischievous. "Why haven't you told her she's—"

"Hitch! _Stop!"_

The head cheerleader chortled. "Fine, then," She waved a finger. "It's your responsibility, anyway. You're part of Annie's band now, so you know anything you do or say will come back to her." Hitch laid her cheek on Annie's head. She was a few inches shorter than him but considerably taller than Annie. Then again, most people were taller than Annie. _Except for Historia._ "You might as well spill it now."

"Why're you making this _worse_?" Eren kneaded his temples. "I would've told her... eventually."

She didn't miss that lapse. " _What_?" Her eyes once again flicked between them, irritation marring her features. "Tell me _what?_ What the _fuck's_ going on?"

Hitch grinned, pressing her cheek on top of Annie's hair, her annoyingly big amber eyes twinkling. "'Cause, it's fun. Haven't you two noticed how funny you are? You guys should've been siblings."

Annie whipped a glare at him, and if she weren't shooting him a murderous glare, he'd break out in a laugh over her flushed expression. "What did you _do?"_ She seethed under her breath.

" _I didn't do anything!"_

"Uh." Historia cut in, having minced to his side and watched the scene unfold in amusement. She was still a little flushed and heaving from the routine, her pom-pom tucked behind her. "Hi," She waved carefully with her free hand, mostly to Annie. "I'm Historia."

Annie studied her, drumming her black and purple nails on the side of Hitch's waist. Not checking Historia out, more like taking in her novelty. Her petite frame and big, blue eyes. The fact that she'd sauntered over here by herself with no one in tow. Almost everyone who'd occupied the gym were gone by now, save for the four of them and a few other students spotted around the court floor.

Or. It was something else entirely that Annie focused on.

"What's your last name?"

Historia's amused expression shifted. She tugged on her red and yellow flanged skirt, dragging the silence on for too long. "Reiss."

It clicked and locked in place behind Annie's ice eyes, her brows disappearing into her side part. Not surprised. Intrigued. Eren waited patiently, but Annie didn't spit it out, lips sealed tight like her heart. Annie was absolutely amazing at keeping secrets for a girl who was so honest with herself and those around her. A trait she and Mikasa _did not_ share. A quality Eren once admired but absolutely hated right about now. He was so confused. How did Historia have Annie's sweater the day he came over if they didn't know each other? He'd never asked. It didn't seem important at the time.

Hitch opened her mouth, but Eren beat her to it. "What's going on?" He asked, flicking a finger in the space between all of them. "So, you two don't know each other? Or you don't?"

Historia shook her head slowly.

Annie mulled on her lips. Historia's nervousness radiated in small waves, her body almost flush against his arm like she was seeking cover behind it. He itched to hold her, keep her safe—from what, Eren didn't know. What could Annie have on her? This was so strange.

"Nope. Never met her before," Annie finally conceded, _lying_ through her fucking teeth. "I was just curious to know the girl who borrowed my sweater. It smelled nice."

Historia relaxed, shooting her a thumbs up. "Paris Hilton. Siren. Nice to meet you, Annie." She pointed a sly look at the head cheerleader. "Hitch talks about you all the time."

Now Eren was even more confused.

"As she should," Annie's eyes darted between them. "So, how do _you_ two know each other?"

"Oh. Uh." Historia glanced up at him before she came out and said it. "We take the bus to school together. And we're dating."

Her eyes bugged. "Oh, _God_." She uttered in horror. "Find peace elsewhere, Historia."

Eren frowned at her.

"Baby," Hitch chided, nudging her shoulder. "Don't be so mean."

Historia shrugged. "We're doing okay so far," She smiled up at him. "It's something new for both of us."

Annie rolled her eyes, disgusted.

Hitch couldn't convince Annie to take a day off. Still, Annie agreed to walk her to the bus as a compromise. Ms. Brzenska cut between the four of them, signaling to her girls that they had a ten-minute mark to make it to the bus before it took off without them. Hitch dragged Historia away to the locker rooms to get their stuff.

The two of them shuffled to the wall. Eren leaned against it, watching Student Council along with Onyankopon and Yelena take care of the streamers, ripping them down, and the remaining students exited the quiet gym.

"What was that back there?" Eren demanded. "You know something about her."

Annie looked sly. "Hm. Yeah. But it's not my piece to tell. If you wanna get mad, direct it at her." Annie slid off her guitar again, propping it against the wall. She stuffed her hands in her leather jacket, glaring up at him. "So. Is there something else I need to know about you and Historia?" Her brow cocked.

"No."

Annie scoffed. "Oh. You really wanna play this game?"

He lolled his head. "What game, Annie? I'm fucking tired of games and deciphering shit."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"What're you, my mother? Why'm I being interrogated all of a sudden?" Annie stared up at him, unblinking. Challenging. Eren raked a hand through his hair, deflating. "Annie, it's complicated."

Her brows slowly bunched together. "Dating her is complicated?"

"Yes."

She knocked her head on the wall, tired eyes raised to the ceiling. Annie sighed. "I'll never understand you straight people and your 'it's complicated' bullshit."

"She's not straight."

"Oh. My. God. Eren." Annie shook her head, fingers touching her temples. "This just keeps getting worse and worse."

"That doesn't have anything to do with why this is complicated," Eren assured. "It just is. It's… a lot."

Annie made an 'mhm' sound straight from her chest. But she stayed quiet, which he loathed. Her silences were always so uncomfortable. _She does it on purpose,_ Eren thought. A method that left him itchy, about to spew everything out. It almost worked.

"You know," Annie blurted. "You're not as in love with Mikasa as you think you are."

Something about how she said it ticked him off. "What makes you say that?"

She merely raised a then brow at his pretentious tone. "It's an observation I've made over the many talks I've had the _pleasure_ of listening to between the both of you over the years."

"She… talked about me to you?"

Annie flicked his forehead just as one of the band kids zoomed out of the boy's locker room. Connie. "Don't act like you never knew. We were best friends. She used to tell me everything."

He still couldn't believe she wore his scarf today. He'd caught a glimpse of her at lunch and thought his mind had been playing tricks on him. Why'd she still have it? He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his ratty black cotton around her neck. Jean had bought her a new one—Secret Santa gift; red silk, definitely imported—for Christmas two years ago. Eren assumed she'd thrown out the black one. He'd given her that thing one cold night when they were eight; her parents slicing and filling bungeoppang in the kitchen, the warm and sweet smell filtering out through the window behind them, Armin trying and failing to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

The very _last_ thing Eren should do is get his hopes up. Jean had plans to marry Mikasa right after high school. Eren shouldn't bother. But she'd gotten his hopes up twice now. And third time's the charm, wasn't it?

"You miss her?"

"Sometimes," Annie answered, twirling her ankle, the zipper on her boot twinkling. Mikasa's old boots. "It's hard not to. But Mikasa couldn't accept me for who I was. The problem with her—with _them_ —is that they have their own perceptions of people, perceptions I don't really fucking care to live up to. And when someone breaks that mold they crafted..."

"It's a catastrophe," Eren finished.

"Right."

But her wearing his scarf again, after all these years, _had_ to mean _something._ Right? That no matter what fight they were in, no matter who they were with, she was still tethered to him. Or at least, thought of him. Eren still remembered how her hands felt on his bare skin, a little rough from all her years working with her parents. Yet a gentle caress. A little too gentle. She always treated him like he'd fly away at any moment.

Someone touched his elbow, bringing Eren back from the brink. Historia.

She peered up at him, brows furrowed deeply. "Are you okay?" She asked softly, her bag stocky, strap across her chest.

Eren scratched along his jawline. "I'm fine, Historia. Don't worry."

Historia rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. She'd tied a gold, shimmery ribbon on her high-ponytail in the locker room. "You know I will, especially when I know you're lying."

It was freakishly weird how Historia knew his mood swings already. But Eren didn't fight her back, pushing off the wall with his foot and shoved his hands in his pockets. He hadn't noticed Annie left until now. She and Hitch were almost out the door, a pep in Hitch's step.

"Can I walk you to your bus?"

" _Duh."_

He kept his pace slow because of Historia's little legs. "Do you... want me to go to the game?"

Historia shook her head. "No way! That's too much. I'd never ask you to skip practice."

Eren raised a brow. "Are you sure?" He scratched the back of his head. "I'd go if you asked me."

Historia scoffed, shooting him a doubtful smirk. "You're really saying that after that huge fight you put up last night for the rally?"

He winced. "I wasn't too keen on seeing my friends. That's all."

Of fucking course, the second Eren spit that out, they were there—lingering in the hallway, the almost three o'clock sun forcing Eren to squint. It wasn't bright enough that he couldn't unravel Jean and Mikasa's stupidly entwined silhouettes.

Horseface leaned against the peeling red column, looking so cool and slick with his good hair and easy-going grin, barking an obnoxious laugh at whatever joke Connie finished telling him. He was doubled over, always carefree and uncaring. Sasha wasn't around. Eren figured they were waiting for her. Knowing her, she was stuck in the bathroom—pre-game nerves. Never failed.

Mikasa spotted him first—why the fuck wouldn't she?

Historia— _shockingly_ —waved at her. Like they knew each other. "Hi!"

Her eyes flicked to her. "Hi," She said blankly, eyes moving up to him. "Eren." Mikasa greeted civilly.

Eren wrapped an arm around Historia's shoulders, dragging her away. He followed Hitch and Annie's general direction, pressing his mouth by Historia's ear. "You know who she is?"

"Yeah, weirdo—she works at Ackerman Kitchen," Historia answered, digging her elbow into his side. Eren relented his hold, letting his hand hang by his side. "I love that place. I go there all the time. Why? You _don't_ know her or something?"

Eren bit his lip. "... She's _the_ girl."

Historia tilted her head up at him in confusion. "What? What girl?" After a second, her eyes widened comically. "Wait! Oh, my God! You mean _that's—_ " Historia did one of those cartoon double-takes.

Eren wanted to bury himself alive. Suffocate under the moist dirt. Anything else. He hoped Mikasa wasn't looking. Knowing her nosey ass, she was. He could feel the familiar prick at the back of his neck that someone was watching him. He circled his arm around her shoulders again and towed her away when she stopped walking.

" _Eren!_ " Historia whispered scandalously, flashing him a bewildered grin. " _She's_ so _hot!_ I didn't think you had taste! _"_

He shook his head. "Thanks, Historia."

She pinched his side, garnering a reaction. Eren almost yelped. He wasn't ticklish, but, damn, did those little fingers of hers dig right in there! "I guess I should've known you'd like Goth girls who look like supermodels."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno—I guess I had it in my head that you were a guy who'd like" —she made an hourglass outline with her hands— "shapes. Like Annie. But still. You obviously have a type. Annie's more a punk-rocker chick, though..."

"Okay. First of all, I don't like Annie. And if I ever did, that dream died when she came out," Historia gave him a knowing look, batting her eyes. Eren frowned. "Second, I don't have a type."

She rolled her eyes, annoyed by his insistence. "Oh, _please_ —yes, you do." She threaded their fingers together. "Everyone has a type."

"Yeah?" He challenged. "What's yours?"

The words left her. Historia glanced up at him. Twisted her lip. Faced forward. "That's not important."

Eren shrugged. "If you say so."

The hallway broke off into an abrupt right turn, leading them right into the senior parking lot, the football field. The stench of gasoline and wet grass punched his nose.

"But, wow," Historia gaped. "This is so awkward now. Can you imagine if I walk into her restaurant now?" She bit her lip, unsettled when she looked up at him. "You think she'd say something? I guess I didn't account for the possibility of us having to fight..."

He frowned. Mikasa would most definitely say something, though she had no reason to. She'd said something to him, so why wouldn't she exert the same attitude to Historia? "She might. She kind of... territorial." Eren scratched his neck with his free hand, the sun frying the sweat dotting his skin. "Sorry. I should've accounted for that."

Historia sneered, slapping his waist. "Stop. I'm just dramatic. It's not your fault." She frowned. "Well. Actually, it is your fault. But… it's fine," She shrugged. "Just show me new places to eat."

"My family's cooking," He offered. "You should come over next Sunday. It's my abuelo's anniversary. My mom's gonna make a lot of food."

"I'll think about it."

Three rented Greyhound buses lined behind the chain-link fence, the sun reflecting off the slicked hoods sprinkled with noon's rain. It was a fancy display for only an hour's drive.

He spotted Armin and Marco hanging out by Armin's car; Armin's arm outstretched on the roof, jabbering excitedly to Marco on his passenger side. Annie's busted and rusted silver Elantra sat in the aisle over, facing the football field. He'd catch a ride with her today even if he was still a little annoyed at her. There was no escaping Annie, anyway.

Historia kept a firm grip on his hand. She didn't speak the rest of the walk through the busy parking lot. And she didn't seem to mind some of the looks shooting their way. Eren didn't mind it either. He'd only ever held hands with Armin when they were in elementary school. Buddy system. Armin's hands were always sweaty, slightly trembling no matter how much Eren reassured him. Armin had the worst nerves. Eren had made the mistake of grabbing Mikasa's hand one time. She'd flared up at the sudden contact. Eren thought he'd done something wrong, so he quickly let go and stuck to Armin's for the rest of those early years.

He didn't feel the need to let go of Historia. Her hands were so soft and smooth, just a whisper of callous from cheerleading. She always seemed to want him around. If she was okay with it, so was he.

"You think she's following us?" Historia asked once they were through the gate of the chain-link, idling on the sidewalks. A few cheerleaders had their backs flush against the first Greyhound, fingers twirling a lock of hair, touching the arms of the basketball guys. Historia waved at those girls.

"She would've before when we were kids," Eren said. "She never liked letting Armin and me out of her sight. Dunno about now."

"So you don't think she's watching us?"

"Oh, no. She definitely is." Eren replied, almost betraying a glance through the chain-link. She would be there with Jean and his outrageous car. He took her home right after school. "She's too perceptive like my mother." Historia craned her neck. "She used to watch me like a hawk when we were kids, make sure that I didn't get hurt, fed me—what?" Eren asked when Historia kept staring, a scowl adorning her lips.

"Lesson number one: don't _ever_ compare a girl to your mother." She shook her head slowly. "Especially if it's a girl you really like. It's not a compliment. You're better off saying how your mom would like her."

"Well," He scratched the back of his head. "My mom does like her. And it wasn't meant to be a compliment, anyway."

Historia yanked her hair out of the cage of his arm. She mindlessly ran her fingers through the strands. "Eren, are you _sure_ you even _like_ her?" She asked. "Everything you've told me hasn't been good on your end so far. You've never told me the basics."

"What do you mean?"

She stared at him, incredulously, before shaking her head. "What is it that you _do_ like about her?"

Eren opened his mouth at the same moment Hitch banged on the window, spooking both of them—Historia pressing against him and him dragging her away from the bus. Her captain rolled her eyes and hastily signaled for Historia to get on, pointing towards the front of the bus.

He loosened his hold on her. "I—I don't know," Eren started, biting the inside of his cheek. "She…" How did he begin to describe Mikasa to an outsider? To anyone who didn't know her, she looked mean and gloomy. "She was always there for me, you know? She always had my best interest at heart." _Until she didn't._ He wanted to say that she was loyal. That she's authentic.

Eren paused. "I've known her since we were kids. She's pretty."

Historia didn't take to that in kind, raising her brow high. "That girl's _way more_ than 'pretty,' Eren," She said. "She should be on the cover of a fashion magazine."

He remembered his mom's comment at the dinner table last night. And his father's remark. He had to side with his dad. "She's nice, too," Eren continued. "She cares about people a lot—she has weird ways of showing it, though. Sasha didn't eat once, and Mikasa's solution was to shove a loaf of bread in her mouth."

She grinned. "You ever notice how 'nice' seems to be your favorite adjective when describing her? We're gonna have to work on that."

He rolled his eyes, smiling back.

The cheerleaders already packed in the bus were _loud_ —placing bets about the game and the basketball players, some of them shouting about homework, a few complaining about turning up the air and the impending boob sweat. Two of them spit back out, dashing down the sidewalk and back into the school. Eren didn't see Annie anywhere around, and he would _not_ look behind him. He'd text her soon.

He untangled his arm from Historia at the door. The driver barely glanced at them, sticking to his newspaper puzzle. "See you tomorrow, Historia."

She grinned, holding up a finger. "First thing in the morning," She confirmed, gripping the steel rail. She lifted herself onto the first step, then turned around. "Or… I can call you later?"

She sounded a little hopeful, and Eren hated to tell her no. "Band practice."

"Even after _eight_?"

"Until my fingers bleed," Eren wiggled his fingers. He cocked his head to the side at her aghast expression. "I told you. Annie's pretty serious about this. So am I. I didn't ask to join her band to fuck around. That's the reason I left the old one in the first place."

Historia closed her mouth, a shrewd glitter passing through her eyes. "I guess I shouldn't be so surprised," She muttered. Before Eren could ask what she meant, she said, "Well, call me whenever. I don't care when. We still need to have a serious talk."

" _Yeah,_ " He agonized, stuffing his hands in his jeans. "Sure."

She gave him a short, quick hug before ascending the steps. Eren waited until Historia was inside before he left. He didn't see Annie out of the corner of his eye, and he still didn't dare a full gaze out into the parking lot. He did pass Bertolt on the way, but the guy was too lost in his own head to notice Eren passing him by.

"Eren! Wait!" Historia called, popping out of the open window, beckoning him back. Eren raised a brow but listened, meeting her back at the door. She flashed him a delirious look. "You should kiss me."

His heart skipped. "... What?"

She glanced over his shoulder, searching. He knew who she was looking for. "She's looking," Historia whispered, her charming blueberry eyes locking onto him. She wound her arms around his neck. With the steps, she was _almost_ his height. Comfortable enough that it wouldn't strain his neck if he did. "It's a perfect time," She coaxed, her face so close he could count her lashes, notice how naturally long and dark they were, see a dusting of sunspots dancing across the bridge of her nose. He didn't realize she'd taken off her makeup before.

"I said I'd help you," She kept going. "She looked plenty pissed off when she saw us coming out of the gym."

His mind whirred with how much he _wanted_. He couldn't take his eyes off Historia's pretty pink lips. Eren forced himself to. "You're… doing enough already, Historia. It doesn't have to be anything more than…" Eren made the mistake of glancing back down. "... this."

Historia groaned in frustration, pressing her forehead to his. "But how're we supposed to act like a couple if we don't do this?" _How can she be so calm?_ He wasn't freaking out, but his stomach was doing these flips he'd never felt before. He held her hips to keep himself steady. "You think a little hand-holding and a few hugs can convince people? Convince _her?_ "

She was right—of course, she was. They were together. The whole school knew it—minus hermit Annie—so it wouldn't look like anything out of the ordinary if he just… kissed her right here, on these bus steps. An entirely typical day. Just a guy parting with his girl. They were just another couple, one of the many in school.

But why did it feel so _wrong?_ Eren knew he could be a selfish asshole. That was part of the reason they were in this mess. But this was Historia. She couldn't actually be okay with this—being _used._ Not with her muddled feelings for Ymir. But she was so, so close. Her pupils were dilated—the air left his lungs. He couldn't get a grip on the idea that she might feel something a little more for him too. Not right now.

Eren shook his head, his thumbs caressing the peek of flesh from her uniform. Historia had planted the seed in his mind. There was no way Eren couldn't _not_ pay attention to how much he wanted it now. How much he wanted whatever it was between them to be so real.

 _Fuck._ He was so fucked.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Historia's expression shifted, and she backed off, sliding her hands off him. "I didn't mean to—"

"No," Eren interrupted, shaking his head insistently. "No, no." He drew her in close, kissed the top of her hair, then her cheek. "It's fine. I got caught up in my head." He let her go, her eyes big and her cheeks pink. "See you tomorrow, Historia."

The pink darkened to a deep red blooming across her cheeks. "Y—Yeah, sure. Whatever." She blubbered, almost smacking him in the ribs with her duffle as she stomped back up the steps into the bus.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating changed due to recreational drug use and underage drinking. Nothing bad, but it’s just in case. There’s also a hint of sexual content at the end of this chapter.
> 
> This story has officially and completely gone away from my outline. Just gotta wing it.

"Hey, babe," Ymir greeted. There was so much commotion on her end. Girls yelling about needing hairspray _right now_ and _who took fucking my Naked eye palette—give it back, bitch!_ Heavy-duty equipment slotted around. Familiar sounds. _She must be done with rehearsals_. Or still in the middle. It must be about three in the afternoon for her. Ymir was never afraid to fuck the rules. "What're you doing tonight?"

"Nothing." Historia gingerly tucked her freshly painted toes into the mint green foam separator. "Just finished my nails. You like orange, right?"

"Sure."

Her nonchalance ticked Historia off already. Maleficent helped herself onto the coffee table, tail swishing. "So? What's up with you?"

"You're not going out tonight?" Ymir asked, ignoring her question.

"Nowhere special to be tonight." Historia stretched out on the couch, neck on the armrest. She lifted her legs, calves aching from another stunt choked pep rally and the following football game right after. _Thank God tomorrow's Friday!_ And no practice, no games.

"That's cool."

Eren's sweater slid off her thighs, bunching at her stomach. "I just came back from a game. It was so bad, Ymir. Reiner totally missed the last tackle, and Porco couldn't catch a throw to save his life. We were doing _so_ _good_ in the first half! I don't know what happened."

"Sounds exciting." Ymir clipped back. Historia forgot—Ymir didn't give a shit about sports.

She moved onto a topic Ymir might like, her baking. "I decided to make a cheesecake to cheer up the girls tomorrow—Oreo with caramel on the side. It smells _so_ good," Historia raved. "I found this really cool blog, and I wanted to try one of their recipes."

"That's… nice of you."

Historia's brow lifted. "What's with that—I can be a nice person!"

Ymir chuckled lowly. "Not often, and without reason, no."

Historia frowned. She wasn't entirely wrong. Sometimes Ymir really _knew_ her. "Okay, _fine_. So I'm thinking of giving a slice to my Algebra teacher—"

" _Really_ , Historia?" Ymir groaned though she didn't sound entirely surprised. Historia could picture Ymir's fingers crawling down her face, tearing at her freckled, tan skin. "You're still resorting to _bribery?_ "

Her feet landed on the couch. "You sound so upset."

"I'm not. I just can't believe you're still doing this instead of doing your own work."

"But you know I've never been good at math," She turned her head to the side, watching Maleficent toe quietly on the coffee table, clear eyes on her next victims, paws twitching. Historia was too lazy to move her Spanish workbook to a safer spot. Her bottles were sealed tight, so she didn't care. "That's why I'd ask you to do it for me."

"Riiight," Ymir drawled. "And the complete lack of responsibility has nothing to do with it, either."

Historia scoffed, glaring at the ceiling. "I don't remember you complaining about getting paid."

Ymir scoffed in equal indignation. "I would've done it for free, Historia."

 _You always took my money with no problem,_ Historia thought. _You let me pay every time we went out, so what'm I supposed to believe?_ But Historia wouldn't take it there. Ymir was touchy when it came to money—an item she never seemed to have enough of, and Historia seemed to have too much of. She didn't want to argue.

"Hey, did you ever get my package?" Historia asked, vaguely recalling the weekend she'd stopped by the only post office in town. She'd sent Ymir a text—only for it to go unanswered. "I sent one, like, two weeks ago, I think."

Ymir actually had to _think_ about it. "No, I didn't."

"Oh. Well." _That sucks_. She hoped _someone_ was enjoying those gingersnap cookies. Historia pursed her lips, contemplating her next move. "I guess I'll send you another one this weekend. I have a lot of leftovers. They should still be good for shipping out."

"Don't bother, sweetie." The nickname set Historia's teeth on edge. She liked pet names—'baby' was her weakness. But not that one. 'Sweetie' was reserved for petty squabbles. One was coming. She could _feel_ it on the tip of her tongue like a nasty aftertaste. "I don't need anything. I'm fine."

"Okay…"

That stung. She expected Ymir to be furious. To hang up right away and call FedEx. Demand the location of the box and when they planned to recover it. But she was so… detached. Historia hated it. She didn't know what to do to make it better.

She reached for the remote before Maleficent could knock it off. She turned off the TV, silencing Ashanti's "Foolish" on the R&B station she'd flipped on while painting her nails. "What about you?" She asked again, this time to fill in the uneasy silence that befell them. "Are you doing anything tonight?"

"Hm. I don't think so. I just finished rehearsals. Kinda looking forward to going home, for once."

"Oh, yeah? What're you doing this season?"

"We're doing _Rumors_."

"Oh." She didn't know that one. "Cool."

Historia thought Ymir would explain it—she _had_ to know that Historia didn't know—but she actually paused. Like she wasn't entirely sure if she should say whatever it was she wanted to tell her next. _Weird,_ Historia thought dimly. _Ymir's never had a problem being brash before._

"Addie," Ymir finally told her. "You remember Addie, right? She invited me to a party tomorrow."

"Huh," The name _did_ sound familiar. Vaguely. Like from a nightmare Historia had no recollection of. "That's nice. I hope you have fun."

"Thanks."

Historia twisted to face the empty, black screen of the TV. Her face folded into confusion. She slowly sat up. "Wait. Hold on. I thought… I thought you hated being invited to drama club parties," Her forehead creased deeply in clutter. "You always complained about how they had too much fancy finger food and played a lot of Broadway and EDM. And there wasn't enough beer pong—"

"This one won't be so bad," Ymir cut her off, hopeful. "Seems like a lot of cool people and good kush are gonna be there."

Historia pursed her lips, tucking Eren's sweater around her like a robe. "If you say so." A sad smile stretched her mouth when she realized what would probably happen. Ymir had shoved one too many drinks in her hand at those parties. "Knowing you, you'll corrupt the poor girl. You're a pretty horrible influence, Ymir."

"Hey, it's not my fault you rich kids don't have a clue how to party!" Ymir boasted. "You gotta admit it someday, babe—you were boring before you met me."

Historia rolled her eyes, but her heart pinched at the familiar teasing she'd missed _so much_. What she wouldn't give to be in front of Ymir again, her head pressed against her chest, Ymir's sinewy arms around her, holding her close. "When's your play?"

"First week of December. It's supposed to be on for about two weeks after that, every Thursday and Friday."

She sighed softly. "I wish I could be there." She used to attend all of Ymir's school plays. Historia had nothing better to do, and watching an hour-long school play was way more entertaining than spending an hour learning contracts with her father. Ymir never had acting roles, though. She had a strange case of stage fright Historia thought endearing because of her boisterous personality. Ymir stuck to stage props.

Ymir hummed. "Well, it's not like anything's stopping you from hopping on a plane, babe. It's still a month and a few weeks away..." She trailed off, hoping Historia would take the bait.

She didn't. "You know I can't, Ymir," Historia checked her toes. Still a little wet. Maleficent successfully slid the bottle of acetone off, prowling onward. Historia hooked her feet on the edge of the coffee table. "It's gonna fall on a school week. I have practice and sports events. There's a competition coming up at the beginning of December. I can't miss that."

"... Competition?" Ymir repeated, confused. "For what?"

"Cheerleading?" Historia supplied. Ymir stayed silent, and her puzzlement emanated through the line. She was ticked. _Why do I need to remind Ymir about this?_ "I signed up for cheerleading during the summer. I told you this. I got on the team. You were happy for me."

"Oh. Oh, right. Uh. Sorry," Ymir ruffled through some papers on her end. For a while. Historia bit her lip, wiggling her toes. Still not dry. "So. That's for sure, no, you're not coming?"

"Probably not, Ymir," Historia said, sighing again. "I don't have the time right now, Ymir. Or the money for a last-minute plane ticket."

She scoffed. "Yeah, _right,_ " Ymir muttered, the low tremble carried off by chairs scraping on her end. She said something else, but Historia couldn't decipher most of it. It sounded a lot like _fucking excuses._ Historia chose to ignore it for the sake of not getting into an argument.

"Don't be so sad, baby. I miss—" Historia hissed through her teeth, almost whacking Maleficent right in her already smushed face when the little demon started licking her toes.

"... Everything okay? Did you fall?"

Historia grit her teeth, bubbles of laughter slipping out in short bursts. "Yeah—no!" She pushed at Maleficent's head, but the stubborn, fat marshmallow wouldn't _move_. "It's my sister's dumb cat— _fuck_ , Maleficent! _Stop!_ " She giggled, struggling to push her sister's fatass cat further away. "You're messing up my nails, dummy! God! I hate this cat!"

"I'm pretty sure you like that cat," Ymir said, bemused. "You were trying to be friendly with her not too long ago."

 _So_ that's _what she remembers?_ She finally successfully flung Maleficent away, the cat clawing at her ankle. Historia hissed, dropping her foot to the ground. The cat stared at her for a moment before she hopped back up on the coffee table with renewed vigor. She avoided Historia's other foot still propped. The only item left for her to knock over was her Spanish workbook.

"And she still doesn't like me! She's okay when she's bothering someone else—just not the kids. I really wish she'd leave them alone. She's such a little dick to them," Historia sighed. "I guess I'd rather have her bother me than them."

"Right. Of course."

A heavy, weighted silence fell over them like a curtain call. The girl's screaming at each other about whether to buy Chinese or hit up the Cheesecake Factory, and the objects rattling on Ymir's end amplified. Historia draped Eren's sweater around her pulled up legs, wishing she knew what to say to dissolve the sudden chill creeping through her veins. She didn't understand why this conversation was so awkward. Ymir was a talker, not a stale potato. It was hard to get her to shut up. She could make wet paint drying sound like the most exciting thing on the planet.

Historia pressed her back against her sister's cozy couch, clenching her jaw. She was seconds away from asking what the fuck was going on when Ymir asked, "So… How's cheerleading going? You like it?"

Historia bit her lip, hastily pondering whether she should give her an answer. If Ymir _deserved_ an answer. Shouldn't they be talking about something _else?_ How much they miss each other? All they did all summer was miss each other, their conversations smoothing into late-night, three in the morning calls. She missed those nights.

Finally, Historia sighed. "It's not what I thought it would be, but I like it a lot." She wiggled her feet. "Coach says she wants me to be co-captain."

"Wow. So soon? That's great, Historia," Ymir said, the most sincere thing she said this entire conversation. It didn't make up for the fact that she was acting like such a stale potato right now.

"Thanks, but I dunno if I wanna take it," She confessed. She hadn't talked about this with anyone yet—not even Hitch. "If I did, I'd be taking someone else's spot." Historia fingered her elephant keychain, twirling the short, silver string around her finger. "She already doesn't like me much, and I don't wanna make it worse."

"Hm. That's never stopped you before. You're not the type to really consider someone else's feelings, babe. Remember how you fucked over Elma's SAT scores?"

Her brows pinched. "Yes, I do. You never let me forget. In any case," Historia tipped her head back, squeezing her eyes shut. She could never forget the tears streaming down that girl's face. It was a horrible prank. "I didn't come all the way over here to get involved in more drama, Ymir. I had enough of it at that school and with my father. I just wanna have fun over here, you know? Be a sort of normal teenager, I guess. While I still have the chance."

Maleficent pawed at the workbook. Historia chuckled when she snapped her paw back after the book moved a single centimeter.

"Oh, yeah. Normal." Ymir muttered. "By the looks of it, it looks like you're having loads of _normal_ fun without me, _babe_."

Historia's mouth flopped open at her abrupt, vindictive tone. "... What's that supposed to mean, Ymir?"

"It means what it means, Historia," Ymir seethed. "Don't play dumb right now."

She _hated_ that condescending tone. She'd had _enough_ of it from her father—Ymir was the last person she ever expected to hear that tone from. "Well, what did you expect? Am I supposed to stop living my life because I moved away?" She breathed, hoping to keep her voice even. Neutral. It wouldn't matter if she screamed. Frieda wouldn't be home until after nine again. "I didn't come over here to live in exile, Ymir."

"Yeah, I know that, Historia," Ymir drawled. Maleficent kept tapping the book, inching it closer to the edge. "You don't have to get so defensive."

Historia gnashed on her lip. "I'm not defensive," Ymir always knew how to stab at her fucking sore spots. Historia wasn't unreasonable, but Ymir always had a way of making her feel like a snot-nosed brat whenever she felt crossed. _Just like my dad._

"But I don't think you care about me anymore," Ymir elaborated, a sadness laced to her voice. "In fact, you look pretty happy all over Facebook. And your MySpace is a mess. Tilly's not exactly happy you took her off your top friend's list."

Her lip curled at the name. Tilly was more of Ymir's friend than hers. "Social media's all a show, Ymir," She deadpanned. "You're supposed to act like everything's fine. Who gives a fuck about a stupid MySpace list?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." Ymir brushed off. How could she be so… _cool_ about this? Hot, fat tears were already pricking the corners of her eyes. This conversation was so fucking _dumb,_ and Historia was fuming over the ridiculousness of it all.

"I saw the pictures you posted, Historia. The ones you were tagged in. I've seen all the pictures since you started school. It's not all a show."

Maleficent succeeded, tossing the workbook off the table. It landed on its spine, the pencil between the pages popping out, the book slamming shut. Historia's mind raced with the implication.

"So, you have the time to be on _Facebook_ , but you can't—"

Ymir cut her off, declaring, "That's not what this is about."

Her breathing was ragged, her blood singing. Her fingers curled her phone—any more force, and Historia might just crush it. She hadn't been _so mad_ in a long time. Historia inhaled deeply, her breath still shaky. "Then I don't understand where you're going with this, Ymir. What does this have to do with you and me?"

"It has everything to do with us, Historia," Ymir digressed, heated. "You looked pretty calm and cozy with a few girls—and especially that _guy_. Who is he?"

 _Oh. My. God_. Historia rolled her eyes to the ceiling, a hot tear slipping down her cheek. _Fuck_. She wanted to scream _._

Historia tore the foam out from between her toes and threw it somewhere. She didn't give a shit if they were ruined anymore. If there was another thing she could count on with Ymir, it was her raging jealousy. Especially with guys. "Reiner's on the football team," She explained dully, wanting to skip to the part where they made up. "Those photos are gonna be in the yearbook, Ymir! I can't say no!"

She was about to blurt it out. How Reiner hit on her. About the football team's disgusting list. How she was in this fake relationship _thing_ with _a guy_ who was turning out to be one of the best friends she'd ever had… But Historia knew she would only make things so worse. Ymir would explode like a volcano. She wouldn't understand. Going out anywhere with Ymir was a nightmare for her. She never paid boys any mind, but Ymir always knew how to take it too far, to the point of embarrassment.

"He doesn't mean anything to me," She assured, but Historia already knew she was losing her. "He's just the linebacker for the team. We're barely even friends, Ymir. You don't have to be jealous—"

"I am _not_ jealous!" Ymir denied, her growl clashing with the screech of clothes hangers on metal on her end of the line. "Are you _kidding me_ , Historia? _You_ broke up with _me!_ _You left me here! How_ can I be—" She took a deep breath. "Listen, babe—Historia. I called today because I need to know what the fuck we're doing to save myself some more misery. I'm so tired of this."

 _Misery?_ "What... do you mean?"

Ymir sighed, frustrated. The static crackled as she shuffled off to a much quieter area. A door closed behind her, and if Historia strained enough, Ymir's teeth chattered on the other line. "Do you still love me, Historia?" She whispered, like the question hurt her to even think of, much less ask.

"Of course I do." Why was she asking such a stupid question?

"Well, it doesn't fucking feel like it." Ymir stewed. "I mentioned Addie—Addie, you know, that girl who won the talent show, that nerdy Honor Roll kid you never liked, but you used to pay to do your projects? You used to say she'd steal me away? You would've been _furious_ months ago if I ever mentioned her name! And now you're _encouraging_ it?!" Historia swallowed, swiping at her wet cheeks. "And then I come online after a month of not hearing from you, and I see all these pictures all over your Facebook feed and how active you've been since school started… What'm I supposed to think, _babe?_ You never have time for me anymore!"

Her throat reduced to brittle. Historia tried not to sniff, wiping furiously at her nose. She cleared her throat. "Friendship's a two-way street, Ymir," She managed to get out, the words scratchy. "You could've called me, too. Something. _Anything._ I waited for you this whole time."

"You shouldn't have _had_ to wait for me," Ymir scoffed. " _You_ were the one who wanted to stay friends—God, Historia, I can't believe I have to explain this." Something slapped—Ymir's hand on her thigh from tossing it up in their air. She was always so animated whenever she spoke.

"Explain what?" She croaked, burying her head on her knees.

"A relationship's also a two-way street, Historia—a relationship you told me you were starting to regret throwing away. Then, all of a sudden, school starts, and you go _ghost?_ You always hated school!" Ymir took a deep breath. Her voice steadily rose and fell as she tried to lump everything together out loud. "I texted you almost _every day_ for _two weeks straight,_ and all you kept telling me was you were too busy and _sorry, baby, can't talk right now!_ And you won't see me at all after all that summer of you promising you'd visit soon? And what's this bullshit excuse about you not having enough money? _You?_ Tell me, what the fuck am I supposed to think, Historia?"

Ymir stopped, frustrated beyond belief. Historia could imagine her forking her fingers through that short, choppy chocolate hair she loved so much. Or maybe she let it grow over the last four months? She didn't know. She didn't know anything about Ymir anymore.

"Whether you wanna admit it or not, I think you started to move on a long time ago," Ymir stated like a cold, hard fact. "You found something— _someone_ —over there. And now you want to stay. Permanently."

Historia didn't know whether to be pissed or start bawling. "No, Ymir... No. I haven't…" She swallowed audibly. "I really was just busy—"

"I need to know," Ymir pleaded, the quiet on her end magnifying her beseeching tone. "Please, I need to know, Historia. What're we doing to each other? Are we ever gonna see each other again?" She continued, "Why are we still bothering if you're never coming back?"

"I will come back," Historia said sharply, but she didn't feel confident. "Someday. Soon. We'll get back together."

"That doesn't sound like a promise, Historia," She denied. "I want you to promise me—I _need_ you to promise me." She paused. "Come back in December. I need to see you." Ymir pleaded, soft, on the verge of tears. "Come back in December, and we can work it out, baby. I know we can."

Historia shook her head, though she couldn't see. Her leg jumbled. She wiped at her face, full of tears and nose congested with snot. It was so simple. Just so simple. "I can't, Ymir."

Ymir was silent for a beat. "Yeah. I knew it." She wanted to sound so strong, holding onto a thin thread, but Ymir's voice was just as frail as Historia's insides, splintering like glass. "I love you, Historia. I've loved you since the moment I saw you, but I can't wait around for you. And I certainly don't expect you to wait for me. If you're going to be with me, then be with me."

Historia opened her mouth, the flood of tears back full force. She gripped her legs tight, shaking. She was mad, just so enraged, but had no right to be. Historia knew it. They weren't together, just like Ymir pointed out. And it was her own fault. She'd made so many false promises over the summer, all these wistful hopes and pleasant dreams she never intended to keep—all to satisfy Ymir. Historia knew it was absolutely shitty of her, but she wanted Ymir to stay.

She breathed, a wet gulp, into her knees, tears endlessly cascading down her cheeks. "I… thought we agreed to stay friends, Ymir."

"Historia," Ymir began softly, sadly. "You and I… we can't ever be friends. Not like we were before. It's over, sweetie. I'm sorry."

Historia hung up without so much as a goodbye and let herself crumble. Her sobs surged through the silent house. She wasn't sure when she fell asleep.

When Historia opened her groggy eyes, shapes danced on her wall. The lava lamp. She felt a stab of anger. Ymir bought her that _stupid_ lava lamp as an anniversary gift at Spencer's. She was about to haul off her bed and smash it against the wall, delight in how it would explode and splatter, but an arm draped around her waist locked her in place. Slender fingers ran through her hair. The smell of blackcurrant and jasmine invaded her nose—Chamade.

Frieda.

 _Frieda_. Historia inhaled sharply, stuffing away another meltdown. Her eyes were too tired for another round. She had no idea how much she'd missed that simple act of affection until this moment, another sob burning in the back of her throat.

"You fell asleep on the couch," Her older sister murmured in that vanilla smooth voice she used when they were kids. She used to tuck her into bed almost every night and read her a book. _The_ _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy was still her favorite series. She used to think she and Frieda were like Frodo and Samwise.

"You never do that," Frieda continued, her hand moving up to Historia's shoulder. She pressed firmly, working out the knot. "What's up? You okay?"

She intended for it to come out harsh and scathing, but her voice cracked somewhere along the way out. "How would _you_ know what I do or don't do?"

Frieda sighed, dropping her head on the spot between her shoulder blades. "Look," She started. "I know I haven't been around much, and I know I tend to bite off a lot more than I can chew, but it's not like I can't tell when something's wrong whenever I see you."

Historia grit her teeth. The ugly, bubbling shadows from the lava lamp pissed her off. She tried to pull the cover to her shoulder, but Frieda's body on top of her comforter made it difficult. She didn't really need to—she was still wearing Eren's colossal and warm sweater. She just wanted Frieda to leave her alone. She wouldn't apologize for what she said.

Her older sister wasn't deterred, nor did she care for an apology. Her fingers were back in her hair, never one to let her irritation simmer for too long. "You've been acting weird for a while," Frieda waited for Historia to fill the silence with an explanation. When she received nothing but the cold shoulder, Frieda asked, "Are these kids giving you a hard time, Historia?"

" _Frieda_ ," Historia rolled her eyes, exasperated. "I'm not eight anymore. You can't call the school because someone messed with me." She looked over her shoulder, glaring at her sister's smug smile. "And you can't beat them up for me, either."

"So they _are_ giving you a hard time."

Historia faced the wall, scowling. "No. It's not that," She smoothed out the wrinkled, damp fabric of her pillow. Even the sleeve of Eren's sweater was a little sticky from her drool. "Nobody's been mean to me." _At least, not entirely, and to my face._

"Oh-kay..." Frieda elongated, her curiosity steaming from her ears. "So. Uh. What happened? Was it… something between you and Eren?" She waited, taking Historia's silence as a surrender. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No. It doesn't have anything to do with him."

Frieda was quiet for too long. If she were a different sister, Frieda would be asleep by now, snoring away. But Historia knew her older sister. Her journey for knowledge was endless as space. "You… guys are going out, aren't you?"

Her first instinct was to deny. Why shouldn't she tell Frieda the truth? It's not like she and Eren hadn't agreed to keep it a secret. "Yes. But it's not what it looks like."

"Huh. Okay." Another pause. Historia already braced herself. She knew what was coming next. "So, does this mean you're into guys again?"

" _Frieda_. That's not how it works."

"Okay, damn—I'm sorry! I swear I didn't mean anything bad by it! I'm just... I'm trying to understand what's going on with you."

Historia shoved her arm under her pillow, plopped her head back on the slightly elevated pillow. "Look, it's a really long story. I don't wanna talk about it right now. I just wanna go to sleep." _And wake up next week. Or a month._ Until the hollow in her chest wilted away.

Her older sister nudged her. "You should eat something first."

"I'm not hungry," Historia lied, maybe a little too harshly, so she added, "And I stuffed myself full from baking." Another lie.

"That's not exactly healthy, you know."

"Well, when you're too busy and don't go grocery shopping, I don't exactly have a variety of options."

Frieda sighed, loud and tired. She shuffled, pressing her front to Historia's back. "You sure you don't wanna talk, Hisu? I have time to listen," She said so sincerely it tugged at Historia's heart. "Whenever you want."

She should tell her. Historia _could_ tell her. Frieda was the one person she trusted more than anyone in the world. More than Ymir. Or used to. The years apart had torn open a hole in their relationship; she didn't know how to sew it back together and tighten the strings. She'd only given Freida a brief, scientific layout of what happened that Friday night in the last week of September. And even Frieda had said she might've been a little harsh on Reiner. It'd sounded like Frieda sided with Reiner, and it stung. If Frieda didn't take her side, who would?

Frieda tried pressing for more details, but Historia never gave in. She couldn't remember when Freida stopped trying. Still, Historia could tell by the distress pooling in her older sister's indigo eyes whenever Freida was around that she wanted an update on the situation. Her fingers would've flown to her BlackBerry, ready to call the school and file a complaint.

"Can you just…" Historia didn't know what she wanted, but her walls were torn down, and she was exposed. She didn't want Frieda to actually leave. She didn't want to be alone right now. "…stay?"

Frieda didn't hesitate like she did. "Yeah, I'll stay." Historia breathed, the knot in her chest unfurling, but not the ache in her heart. Her sister snuggled tighter, squeezing Historia against her like one of her stuffed animals she still had. "By the way—that cheesecake you made today was _awesome_."

"Of _course_ , you took a piece without asking!"

"Was I not supposed to? … Was it meant for someone?"

Historia rolled her eyes. "It's fine. It was for everyone—you included."

"Oh," She sighed in relief. "Okay. Good." Frieda yawned into Historia's shoulder, breath smelling like said contents.

Historia squirmed. "Ew, Freida. _Gross_."

"Hm," Frieda caged her, and Historia just gave up. "You really should think about a bakery. I could talk to a couple of people." She murmured.

They laid there, Frieda's soft breathing billowing behind her. It wouldn't be too long before the snoring started and made it impossible for Historia to get a wink of sleep. She did _not_ miss sleeping with Frieda.

Her eyes were heavy, but Historia didn't feel like going back to sleep. Given that Frieda was here, it must be after nine. There was no sun peeking through her closed blinds. She was suddenly too wired.

Frieda wasn't much of a baker, but she was the one who taught Historia with the basics. The two of them would spend nights after Historia's homework squirming around the kitchen, seeing what they could invent. They'd burned so many cookies and didn't add enough baking soda to the base of their cakes. Historia started following the boxes and bag instructions on her own, Frieda watching from the dining room while she drank another cup of lemon and honey over her literature homework. Those were the easiest and happiest moments of her childhood.

"Frieda? Why do you keep telling me to open a bakery?"

"Huh—what?" She yawned obnoxiously loud like a lion's roar. "The bakery?"

"That topic you bring up at least once a week, yeah."

Frieda hummed a disgruntled noise. "One of them closed down a couple of months ago, right before you came. Something… Something about roaches, I think."

" _Ew_."

"Yeah. They lost a lot of business," She yawned, rubbing her forehead on Historia's shoulder. "Don't know if they're still around town. I haven't seen 'em. The whole town had a little community thing for them to get their business back, and it just didn't work out."

She sounded just as exhausted as Historia felt. What should've been an easy, three-month case kept tacking onto the weeks. _Parents being petty parents_ , she'd complained over a hefty bowl of dak gomtang one evening. _This is why I never want kids,_ Frieda had concluded. Despite it all, Historia did. She wanted a big family. She knew it was impractical, but she wanted five kids and maybe a few pets.

"The closest thing we have to sweets around here are, like, two ice cream shops across from each other that are always packed," Frieda stated. Historia went to one of them, with Eren. "Pretty sure their cakes are store-bought from the Walmart across the Chevron." Eren did mention that, too. "Man, I miss those mini-cakes from Stohess." Frieda groaned. "I wish they had something like that out here. You could do that, you know?"

Historia's brows furrowed. "... But I thought we agreed I'd go to cosmetology school?" She reminded her. "We already filled out the financial aid forms, and I already signed up."

"Hey… I never agreed to that," Frieda slurred. "It's not my choice to make. You're the one that's gonna have to live with whatever you do." She headbutted Historia's shoulder softly. "Bu-ut. You _could_ always do both, you know. One during the day, one at night."

"Uh. That's a lot of money, Frieda."

"Yeah, so?" Frieda said nonchalantly. "Money's not a problem for us. We might as well take advantage of it."

"I can't do that to you."

Frieda made a disapproving sound, expanding into another loud yawn. "I'm not talking about _my_ money, Hisu. I'm talking about _dad's_."

"Well, it's not like dad left me a trust fund."

Her older sister weakly patted her head. "We'll figure something out when the time comes. Go to sleep, Historia. You need it."

Historia frowned, clutching the cover to her mouth. She tinkered with the idea. If she went through with it, how much of it would be hers before Rod lumbered in and rearranged everything like he did with his parents' record label? _And now it's his fault it's going under._ She sighed through her nose and soon drifted away.

* * *

Frieda slapped her face, jolting her awake.

"Pickupyourdamnphone," Frieda whined all in one breath and rolled over, yanking Historia's cover with her. Frieda was a blanket hog, always leaving Historia exposed to the cold air. Another thing she didn't miss about being with Frieda.

Maleficent had joined them sometime during their sleep, curled into a ball by their feet. The light slanting from the hallway shined on those droopy blue eyes. She stared at Historia unflinchingly, equally displeased by the interruption like her owner.

Historia scowled, sweeping her legs across the bed, wanting to knock Maleficent off, but she was careful to avoid her. An angry cat was the last thing she needed. _She should've named her Lucifer_ , Historia grumbled. The cat had the same wicked smile as Cinderella's evil cat whenever Historia had to scoop her up for mauling yet _another_ poor kid. She needed to buy more bandaids and make more cookies.

Her phone purred like a machine in the pocket of Eren's sweater, his ringtone blaring—some Metallica song she'd found in the store on sale for a couple of cents.

"Hello?" She answered groggily, turning off the lava lamp, plunging the room into darkness. She wasn't worried about tripping. Her floor was clean of any clothes, and it was a short walk to her door.

"Hey! I'm so sorry I didn't call earlier!" Eren coughed. _Holy fuck._ He sounded terrible. "Practice took a lot longer than I thought."

Historia fully opened her bedroom door. Frieda groaned at the hallway light smacking her right in the face. She grumbled, "fuckingclosethefuckingdooralready," and flopped over. It was so bright, Historia squinted too. Frieda must've forgotten to turn it off.

"You sound as shitty as I feel," Historia commented, closing the door softly behind her.

He coughed again. "Yeah... Annie had me doing do-re-me until I could taste the blood..." Titan cried on the other end. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head, though he couldn't see. "That sounds awful," Historia padded down the hallway, switching the hallway light off. Frieda had left the seeded glass lamp in the living room on. "Did you just get home?"

"Yeah," He said tiredly. "I'm gonna make that shit you made me drink three weeks ago—Titan, _no!_ ¡Bájate!"

Titan whined in response.

"¡No, no me mires así!"

She barked at him.

"I'll give you a treat, ¡dame un segundo!" She barked louder, insistent. "Titan! Wait a second, mama!" Eren coughed, and Titan barked again. And again. "¡No me grites, chica! I'm going!"

Historia bit her lip, stifling her laugh. She leaned against the kitchen counter with her hip. "You're so loud."

"My parents aren't home. They're working late—" A cabinet creaked. Eren popped a container open. "Here, _happy_? You know the rule—sit."

"You need to give that poor little angel attention already!" Titan gobbled down the treat loudly. "She probably hasn't seen you all day, jackass!"

"Yeah, I feel kinda bad," Eren coughed. "She really has been all by herself the whole day. I thought I'd be home before six, but..."

"So?! What're you waiting for? A special invitation?"

He groaned. " _Fine_. Hold on." Eren set his phone down, close enough that she could hear snippets of him baby talking to his dog. _Muñequita de mi vida, what'd you do today, huh?... Aw, look at you, my pretty lady. Did you behave while I_ — _oye, oye, oye, ¡no soy un juguete de masticar! Stop it, ¡coño!...Sí, mami, te quiero mucho, but you gotta chill!_ She wanted to throw her head back and laugh. Eren was such a sucker.

Frieda was a light sleeper, so Historia bit her lip. She folded and bunched his sweater's sleeves to her elbows, obtaining the tea kettle from under the oven. Historia grabbed the chamomile tea bag from the cabinet by the fridge. She filled the kettle, transferring to the stovetop under a medium setting.

Historia took note of the time. Almost midnight. Her eyebrows flew up. "Wow, Eren, you really stayed up this late for practice?"

She hadn't expected Eren to answer. "Just for tonight," He responded, picking up his phone. He must've left her on speaker. "Annie got an email that the competition date moved up. She's freaking the fuck out. I've never seen her freak for _anything_. It's kinda funny," Eren chuckled at his private memory. "She doesn't think we're ready, but, I dunno, I think we're ready as we'll ever be. We know what we have to do—there's not much else we can do."

She didn't care about his band, but Historia knew it was important to him. "Is it an original song?" She teased. "Is Annie gonna perform that song you showed me? Or mine? I don't think that's a good idea for _that_ kind of crowd."

" _No_. It's a cover. Easy stuff," Eren sighed. "But Annie doesn't think we're ready. And it's too late to back out now. We already put in our money."

"Honestly, I think I'd believe the one with the more experience in these things."

"Yeah. But she's never had _me_ before."

She hopped on the chunk of counter space between the stove and the fridge. His confidence was sort of cute. "When is it now?"

"Halloween night."

 _Two weeks from now._ Historia kicked her legs, rolled her ankle. Shiganshina's Halloween fair was that same weekend, and she really wanted to go. They hadn't discussed if she would go. They hadn't even consulted the competition—if Eren intended to _stick_ with her for that long. "How come it got moved up so far? Wasn't it Thanksgiving before?"

Another cabinet squeaked on his end. "According to Pieck's dad, he thinks some guy from a record label's coming into town that week. That's not really abnormal, but this guy's _certified_. And his company's going under, so he's looking for The One, you know?" Historia stiffened. "It's not confirmed yet, though. And the club owner thought the original date was a little too close to Thanksgiving this year. They were worried about not having much of a turnout. Last-minute call-outs. Whatever. I guess it worked itself out."

"Oh. Right." Her stomach lurched, a mix of hunger and dread. She chewed on her lip. "It's always about profit."

Her father _loved_ small-town bands—nameless guys with big dreams and even bigger egos. Rod loved building them from the ground up, cushioning their minds with sold-out venues and five-star hotels. _Fuck._ Historia clenched her jaw.

The tea kettle whistled.

"You all right, Historia?"

"Huh?"

"I dunno," Eren said, hesitant. "You sounded kind of weird just now."

"Oh. It's nothing," She hopped down, grazing in the cabinets for a mug, grasping for any sort of distraction to get away from the downward spiral of her mind. "Does the club expect many people to go?"

"I guess," Eren responded, not entirely happy with her diversion but indulging her anyway. "There's not much to do on a Friday night. Any excuse to get out of the house, and people do it. Annie's band is kind of a big deal around here—good and bad. First female band, you know? She played at prom last year."

Her brows popped, her fingers turning the nozzle of the stove off. "That's cute! Live bands are outdated now. Did you go?"

Eren scoffed. "My friends wouldn't let me _not_ go."

Historia giggled, trying to picture Eren in a suit. A tailored suit. Black, with a lovely moss green tie and white dress shirt. She kind of liked the image. She squashed that thought immediately, flushing, pouring the scalding water into the short mug. "Are you excited about performing?"

"Yeah," He said, sheepish. "It'll be my first time."

Historia cocked her head to the side, her brow's drawing a line. "But weren't you in a band before? You told me. I think." She bit her lip.

"I was, but we never competed."

She dipped the tea bag into the hot water, let it sit. "Really? How come?"

"Outvoted," She could imagine Eren shrugging on his end, and a little irked, his defined brows lowered. She wondered if he was still in the kitchen. "Floch and I wanted to, but the other guys were a bunch of chickens."

A smirk pulled the corner of her mouth. "That's the nicest way to put it. But, hey—you never told me you and that Neo-Nazi were in a band together."

He chuckled. "He was our singer."

" _Seriously?!_ " She whispered, almost dropping the kettle into the sink. Historia summoned up his face from the few times she'd caught sight of him on the bus in the mornings and around the halls. His punk-goth style, his stoic yet sarcastic demeanor. She could see it. Rod would appreciate the persona.

"His voice is amazing. They really made a fucking mistake kicking him out," Eren let out a sigh. "But, anyway, he's mad at me because he thinks I snitched on him."

She grinned, carefully leaving the kettle in the stainless steel sink. "Singers are always so dramatic—no offense to Annie," Historia twirled the baggie around with the string, the water swirling murky brown. "And if it's of any consolation, you wouldn't do something like that."

"Thanks, 'cause I didn't do it. And, full offense to Annie, she can be _very_ dramatic. You should've seen her today at practice," Eren chuckled again. The sound almost made her smile. He rarely ever laughed unless he was with her. Her heart brimmed with warmth, just like the mug between her hands.

Then he coughed. "But I was so pissed when they kicked him out, Historia. He deals on the side to help out his mom with the divorce," He lowered his voice like it was some kind of secret, all the humor gone. "His old man was a hotshot doctor or something like that, so the guy's hoarded a lot of sample drugs that never made it to the market. My friends were always scared he'd slip something to us."

"That's dangerous, Eren!" Historia almost exclaimed. "That's… Someone could have a bad reaction to it and end up in the hospital—or worse, _dead_! Floch could end up in jail if he's ever found out!"

"I'm pretty sure he's aware of all that, and yet," She could imagine Eren shrugging on the other end. "What else can he do, Historia? He's not dumb. He needs the money, and he's doing what he can. We all are."

"Uh. Why doesn't he get a job?"

"Unless it's a family business or the odd job here and there, you're kind of shit out of luck with jobs," Eren said like he'd had this kind of discussion before. " _Or_ , if you're lucky and rich like _Jean,_ you could probably get a job anywhere you wanted." He always said that guy's name with the utmost distaste. Any second, and he'd vomit. It wasn't hard to imagine a guy like Eren hating someone. But Historia didn't know if she liked it. Or what his reasons are. "We have some seasonal jobs and volunteer work, but that's just about it. And with the recent stock market crash… It's not looking too great right now."

Historia receded, nodding, though Eren couldn't see. "Right... I see. I guess I…"

She reached for a spoon, propelling the baggie back and forth mindlessly. _It can't be dad,_ Historia thought, her mind still stuck on before. _No way._ Rod never once came to visit Frieda the whole time she'd been living here. Whether he was still mad over Freida choosing her own life, or what, Historia didn't want to speculate. _What Frieda decided wasn't business. It was personal._ She didn't think their father would be that cruel to his once favored daughter.

"Historia? Are you really okay, though?" Eren's voice broke her out of her nightmare daze. "You sound… I dunno, kinda sad?"

She shook her head, depositing the spoon in the sink. She pulled up her shoulder, tucking her phone in the slot. "It's nothing, Eren. Don't worry."

"I'm pretty sure it's not nothing," He insisted in that infuriatingly gentle way of it. It annoyed her sometimes how intuitive Eren was to her. She seemed to be able to run and hide and disappear to everyone except him. "Aren't we supposed to talk about—esta sabe como _mierda_ , _¡no me jodas!_ " Eren hollered. "How the fuck did my dad ever drink this shit when he was young? _Fuck!_ I think I put way too much lemon in it."

Historia pulled her lips. Her tea was hot on her tongue, but it was welcome in a cold space. Her legs were shivering. But she didn't want to hang up. "My sister used to drink it all the time. Dad put her in singing lessons most of her life. She says she got used to it—says it's better when it's scalding hot because you can't taste it as well when it's warm or cold."

"Annie told me she drinks this shit too," He muttered. "Pieck says I should boil celery leaves and use lime or lime juice instead of lemon. Something about the taste being different, but I literally can't imagine a worse hell." Eren sighed, dramatic. "Am I really gonna have to drink this for the rest of my life?"

"Oh my, God, Eren!" She rolled her eyes, mouth breaking into a grin. "You're such a crybaby!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," He grumbled. "All men are babies and shit—I know the deal."

Leaning on the kitchen island, Historia sipped quietly on her tea. Maleficent popped out of her room, hopping up onto the couch, in her favorite spot—on the armrest. "But if this is what you want, then yes."

" _Ugh._ "

Historia grinned, but it slipped quickly. She drummed her fingers on the warm mug. "I honestly don't remember what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh. Uh. You forgot we agreed that I'd call you at night if it was a game day?"

 _Oh, shit._ Historia flushed, fingering her hair. "Yeah. I did."

"It's okay," Eren assured. "It's been a long day."

She smiled. "It's been a really long week for me," Historia nursed on another careful sip, wondering if she should tell Eren. If he would care. Her eyes watered suddenly, and Historia sniffed. "Can you imagine winning against your rival school last week, only to lose in the football semi-finals against the _same rival school_ today?"

"I'd be pissed. That fucking _sucks_."

"Porco really blew it. And so did Reiner."

"I'm sure Reiner took it personally. He always does."

Historia recalled the time horn blaring, how Reiner shoved off his dirt splattered helmet and slammed it onto the ground before storming off. "He did. He missed the interception tackle. He jumped too early."

"Shit."

A silence blanketed them as she nursed on the rest of her tea carefully. It wasn't an awful quiet. She wiggled her toes; her nail polished ruined.

"Titan, here," Eren commanded. "So, uh. What're you doing, Historia?"

"In my kitchen, finishing my tea. You?"

"In my room. Chamomile?"

"Yeah," She smiled. "Can't sleep."

"Oh, shit, Historia, fuck—did I wake you? I thought you'd be up… doing homework, or something."

She smiled slyly. "Yeah, but it's fine. I don't care, Eren."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I think I would've woken up eventually. I got a lot on my mind."

"... You sure you don't wanna talk about it? You still sound… not like yourself."

"No. I'm fine."

"You _sure_?"

" _Yes,_ " She insisted. "You're being so annoying right now. You should be asleep."

" _You_ should be asleep."

"You're the one who woke me up, though!"

He paused. "Yeah, I did. Sorry."

"I told you it's fine, dummy! Stop apologizing to me all the time!"

Eren's sigh turned into a yawn. "I guess I really should go," He said, rustling around. "It's late, and we got school tomorrow."

"Mhm."

She didn't hang up.

Eren paused. "Are you going to sleep too?"

Historia rolled her eyes. "As soon as I finish drinking this, yes, _viejo_."

He chuckled. "Okay. Sweet dreams, Historia."

* * *

Ruth waved them over, grinning. "Hey! Over here. Sit with us, guys!"

Historia looked up to Hitch, raising a brow high. Her captain twisted her lips and shrugged, ripping open her carton of strawberry milk.

Together, the two of them wove through the lunch crowd huddled around the registers, the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and processed pizza wafting behind from the ovens. Historia had leftovers from Frieda's office party. She just wanted to accompany Hitch to the line and grab plastic utensils.

"We don't have to go over there, you know," Hitch whispered when they were about halfway there. "We could always go to the library."

"It's fine," Historia shrugged, while their mahogany-haired co-captain bounced in her seat at the sight of both of them coming over. "I don't care. I have to deal with them one way or another."

Hitch twitched her lip, but said nothing else.

"Hey, Historia!" Ruth greeted before Hitch even set her red tray down and got comfortable at their circular table. "Where were you this morning? Not avoiding all of us, were you?"

"No," Historia rolled her eyes, situating her messenger bag on her lap. "I was at the library researching for my Spanish essay."

"Hm. Sounds boring."

"When school isn't boring, that'll be something."

Ruth laughed, but it wasn't sincere. "Those cheesecake bites Hitch gave us this morning were super awesome, by the way," She gushed. Historia couldn't tell if she was genuine. Then, Ruth tilted her head. "I can't believe you really made those from scratch."

"Yeah… It's something I used to do with my sister when I was a kid," Historia explained, pulling out the Tupperware of shrimp alfredo from her bag. "And then it became my own thing."

"I'd say they were pretty well deserved after that horrible game yesterday," Sandra said, twirling a strand of her curly, sandy hair.

"She ruined my kale diet," Clara, their junior flyer, grumbled, fixing up her ginger hair into a messy ponytail. "I was doing so good!" She whined.

"I still can't believe Porco didn't catch that ball!" Margaret, one of their senior bases on their squad, exclaimed. "It was two feet in front of him!"

"Poor guy," Sandra murmured, her head falling on Ruth's shoulder. "I think he's taking it pretty hard. He didn't show up today. And Marcel. Guys take everything so hard."

"It's not because of _that_ ," Ruth pushed Sandra's head off, dusting off her shoulder like she'd left some kind of dust in her wake. "Their dad's hosting a fundraiser across town. Something for the environment. Marcel told me about it, but I obviously can't go." She'd moved on from Reiner to Marcel.

"Which reminds me," Hitch suddenly said, peeling back the wrapper for her tuna wrap. "We need to talk about fundraiser ideas."

All the girls at the table groaned. Hitch just chewed slowly, eyes on all of them. Historia continued eating.

"What's the point," Another of their senior girls, Noor, chimed in, "when we're gonna do a bake sale like we do _every_ year?"

"It's _Friday_ , Hitch," Ruth pouted, waving her plastic fork. "Can't we talk about it, I dunno, _later?_ "

Hitch rolled her eyes, waving a palm in submission. "Fine, whatever. I'm just saying. We gotta start thinking about it before it's too late. We have a competition to think about."

"Hey," Clara said, eyes focused on Historia. "Is it true you gave Zacharias a piece of cheesecake for a better grade? Bertolt says he saw you."

Sandra pinched her brows together. "Why would she need to do that?"

Historia didn't get a chance to respond before Ruth blurted, "So, my parents are going out of town this weekend." Her candy eyes swept between the two of them, a grin stretching far too wide to be comfortable. "You know what that means, Hitch!"

"Boy, do I ever," Hitch muttered, biting into her wrap. Historia wasn't sure what was up with Hitch. _She's been acting weird since yesterday_ , she thought, trying to recall what might've happened with her yesterday. _Oh, right._ While Eren walked her to the Greyhound again, she'd caught Hitch and Annie arguing in the parking lot. Hitch arrived on the bus seconds before the doors slammed shut, irritated and cheeks red, and plopped in the front row. She'd wanted to go over but wasn't sure if it was her place. She'd forgotten to call her, too, her breakup with Ymir still muddling her mind.

Ruth ignored her mood, still bright and cheery. "You guys are coming over, right?"

Hitch sighed. "I dunno, Ruth," Hitch picked at her wrap, pulling out a long string of onion and dumping it onto the paper basket. "I already have plans with Annie tonight."

Their co-captain rolled her eyes, taking a sip of water from her sparkly pink canteen. Or, Historia assumed it was water. Ruth wasn't a stranger to slipping in vodka. Maybe that was the contribution to her unusually bright mood today. They didn't have any games or practice today, so Hitch couldn't care.

"Oh-kay," Ruth sighed. "Why not just invite her over? You know I don't care. Everyone's welcome."

 _Sounds doubtful,_ Historia thought, swallowing down her food. She was almost finished already. She wanted to reach for her phone, maybe text Eren, but she didn't want to see all the texts Frieda left her. She was pissed off at her.

"I'll talk to her about it." She offered, not a 'no' and not an immediate 'yes' either.

Ruth's mouth twisted, tossing her mocha-colored hair over her shoulder. "Didn't know Annie kept you on such a tight leash," She dunked her sweet potato fry into the ketchup cup. "Yeesh."

Hitch rolled her eyes and sighed. "Keep your shit to yourself, would you, hon?"

Their co-captain sucked her teeth. Ruth's father owned a few dealerships out in Trost. Mostly Mercedes Benz. Based on what Hitch once told her, he was a huge sponsor for their events. Her mother was a liberal art major. Historia always wondered why Ruth wasn't captain. Her father had an influence. Hitch was… normal compared to Ruth—regular nine-to-five jobs, just a hair strand above middle-class living.

Historia popped the lid back on her Tupperware, finished with her meal. Ruth's brown eyes flicked lazily to her. "And you? What about you, Historia?" She probed, crossing her arms. "Will Eren stop you from going? He's in Annie's band, right? Can't imagine how tough that must be."

"Hey," Sandra butt in. "Do you guys know if they're gonna play at homecoming?"

"No," Clara responded. "I heard they hired a deejay this time."

Historia swallowed. She didn't like the way Ruth sneered at his name. Or whatever else she was implying. Ruth might not be writhing over the Reiner situation anymore, but she'd made it abundantly clear that Historia should've gone out with Reiner. Like it was a situation where she even had a choice. And if she did, Historia felt like she'd made the right one. Reiner wasn't bothering her anymore, and none of the football guys approached her. That's all that mattered to her.

"I don't have anything planned," Historia said, conciliatory. "So, I'll be there."

"Great! Awesome!" She chirped, sluggishly raising her purple canteen like a champagne glass to salute. "He's more than welcome to come. Though…" She squinted, bringing the canteen to her lips, looking at her over the rim. "I'm not sure what he'd do there. Buuut… It's up to you! It starts at nine—don't be late!"

Historia spent the remainder of lunch drifting in and out of their conversations. How everyone would be there. The food Ruth would order—pizza being the most comfortable option. All the drinks she'd take from her parents' basement stash.

Hitch nudged her shoulder with hers. "You wanna leave?"

Historia shook her head. "You can go if you want."

But Hitch didn't leave. Historia's leg bounced underneath the table. Her phone vibrated in her bag, but she refused to check it. She was so annoyed. At Frieda. At Ymir. At herself for wanting to get out of the house so much and so bad that she'd willingly accept throwing herself into the lion's den. But Historia had a burning desire to prove whatever Ruth was thinking of her wrong. She'd suck it up and go alone if she had to.

She was absolutely positive Eren would say no. He was not the party-going type. Eren was usually home, with his band, or with her, and didn't care to be congested in large groups. Neither was she, for that matter. Historia only went to parties because Ymir wanted to go. And stayed because Ymir wanted her to. And then she'd take her to one of the unoccupied rooms... Historia shook her head, focusing on Ms. Caven's verb conjugations and practice sentences.

It crashed like a shock of rain on the bus ride home when Eren agreed with no hesitation.

Her jaw dropped. "... Why?"

There was something different about him that she couldn't put her finger on. Maybe it was his style. He was trading in more of his black's for greys and greens and the occasional blue. Or his hair? It was a little longer now, _just_ getting to his shoulders. He could probably tie some of it back comfortably.

Eren gave her a funny look, sipping on his bottled water. "… Weren't you the one who told me about a week ago that I'd look like a shitty boyfriend if I didn't show up to support you?"

Her eyes fluttered, her face dropping into a blank expression. "Yes. But the pep rally actually does support me—it's for school. It wasn't an invite to one of the most popular girl's houses. You don't have to go with me if you don't want to."

He rolled his eyes, crossing his leg on his knee for a more comfortable position to write. "I'll pick you up at nine, Historia."

"Uh." She poked his shoulder, drawing his attention back. "That's when the party starts."

He smiled at her, closed. "Trust me—these parties never really start."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He poked her head with the eraser end of the yellow pencil. "Means these guys don't know how to party, much less throw one," Eren closed his notebook and stuffed it in his bag, leaning back on the bench. "You'll see."

Historia sighed, laying her head on his arm. Eren shifted a little so she could be more comfortable. She was so tired, and drained, she fell asleep right away.

* * *

Inside Frieda's apartment, it struck Historia how she had _nothing_ to do.

Frieda wouldn't be home until late—again—her HP left on the coffee table in case Historia needed it for school. She could watch another movie to pass the time, but Frieda got on her ass yesterday about all the movies she'd been renting. Netflix didn't deliver fast enough, and Historia was impatient.

She bit her lip, dropping her messenger bag on her vanity space. She pulled open her drawers, drawing up a picture in her mind of what to wear and coming up empty. Her lava lamp drew shapes along her walls. Historia paused. _Actually,_ she thought, yanking the cord out of the electrical socket.

She strode to the kitchen, grabbing a handful of white garbage bags. She shoved all her drawers open, fishing for Ymir's clothes. She ripped out the four-by-fours wedged into her vanity. She wanted to smash the picture frames, but Historia figured they could come in handy later. She tore the elephant keychain off from her phone, dumping it on top of the pile of clothes in the garbage.

She was a little surprised all she needed was one bag. Historia left it by the door, intending to throw it out later. She grabbed Frieda's laptop and set it up on the glass dining table.

Recently, one of Frieda's former clients got engaged. She needed a cake. All the bakeries in Trost were too expensive. The others were too far away, generating a hefty travel fee the bride couldn't afford on a tight budget. Her wedding was around Christmas. She was still undecided. Frieda might've let it slip that her _adorable baby sister_ was an _aspiring baker_ and _works for cheap_ and would have a few samples ready by Monday. Historia still hadn't answered Frieda's texts.

Historia's lip twisted, clicking out the bridal webpage. At least now she had some way to kill time. Throwing out Ymir's stuff had barely taken up an hour.

She didn't know anything about wedding cakes other than what she'd seen in movies and TV. Historia hadn't been to many weddings. Rod was always too busy for pointless shit like that—his exact words. She looked up typical flavors and drank in countless, intricate designs. Historia printed the recipes.

She texted Frieda, _is she allergic to anything?_

Frieda responded immediately with _cinnamon_.

While the cakes were baking, Rockell playing on Frieda's new iHome, Historia started on her literature assignment. Choose one of the six topics and write a poem. She liked writing but not as much as reading. She figured Eren would be better at an assignment like this, though she couldn't imagine poetry being his strong point. The thought made her laugh for some reason.

Chocolate coconut and vanilla perfumed the apartment, the sky outside darkening, and she felt like she could truly live in this cocoon. Frieda's apartment might be small and plain, but it felt more homely than any of their father's penthouses or his beach home.

Maleficent announced her arrival with a loud meow, squeezing in through the open kitchen window, startling Historia as she iced the cakes after letting them cool for about twenty minutes. She didn't mind that she didn't have the right tools at the moment. She'd just have to come up with other ways to ice—using spoons and butter knives and fork points.

The cat hopped onto the kitchen island, sitting. Casually observing. Historia was a little skeptical about having her here. Maleficent loved knocking shit over. Just last week, while she'd been in the shower, the cat had pushed over a batch of peanut butter cookies Historia left cooling. She'd planned on giving to her team and Eren after the basketball team's win. It sucked seeing them on the floor. She wanted to blame the cat, but it was her own fault. She hated food going to waste.

Done and iced decently, Historia stuffed the mini-cakes into the fridge. She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. She started washing her hands at the sink, then utensils. It was dark outside, some of the chill filtering in. Historia reached up and shut the window—

Wait. Dark?

She hastily rubbed her hands on her shorts, turning to the iHome… Her eyes bugged. Almost eight fifteen! _Shit, shit shit!_ Historia untied her apron, threw it on the counter. There wasn't enough time to wash her hair, or shave, or exfoliate—but fuck, she had to try!

Historia nearly shot to the ceiling when the doorbell rang at nine on the top, her comb catching in her wet hair. She yanked it out with care, hissing at the sting and sprinting towards the front of the apartment, knotting her duck printed robe tightly.

Eren was nice enough to bite back a laugh at her rumpled state. If she weren't freaking the fuck out, she'd find his lip-biting cute.

Historia grabbed his wrist before he could say a word, yanking him inside. "Don't just stand there laughing—I need your help!"

"Uh, okay." He uttered, letting her drag him in. Eren kicked the door shut behind him, following her lead. "Damn, it smells so good in here."

"Thanks, you can't have any."

"No fair!"

Usually, she'd be mortified having someone other than Frieda come into her room and see this _mess_. Not even Ymir ever saw her room in this state. Clothes were strewn across the hardwood floor. Drawers overturned, lacy underwear on display—Historia's cheeks flamed. She hastily tried to shove those back inside. A couple of bras dangled on the bedposts that she snatched up, packing them into a random drawer.

She picked more clothes from the hardwood floor and dumped them into her overflowing hamper. It didn't matter if it was dirty or not. She'd figure it out tomorrow. "What should I wear?"

"... Does it matter? Just... wear whatever makes you comfortable."

Historia rounded on him. Eren looked confused, hanging awkwardly by her threshold. He hadn't been back in the apartment since that day this whole thing started. Frieda hadn't taken kindly to Titan. Eren's head was tilted in a way that reminded her of a golden retriever.

"Of course it matters," She threw another bundle of clothes in her arms onto her hamper. Some of it fell over. "It's my first invite to a party in this place."

Eren was still bemused. "Okay…"

 _I must look insane right now_. Historia thanked whoever was watching over her that she hadn't worn a green mask. It would only add to the ridiculousness of the situation. She inhaled deeply, willing herself to calm down. "Please, help me? _Please_ , Eren?"

"I just meant that you'd look—" Eren shook his head, shaking the thought off. His palms flew up in defense. "Never mind. _Mujeres._ " He muttered, crossing into her room, towards her closet with his long-legged strides.

" _Hey_." She deadpanned, crossing her arms. "I _heard_ that."

Eren met her eyes over his shoulder. He smiled, patting her head. "Go dry your hair, mama," He ordered gruffly, dismissing her with an impatient wave of his hand.

Historia stuck her tongue out, but her heart did a stutter at the nickname. His back was turned, too busy shoving her hangars aside. She had no choice but to keep trusting him.

After blow-drying her hair straight, Historia returned to her room. She hoped she hadn't taken too long, but it didn't seem like Eren cared. On her bed, his shoes off and feet crossed at the ankles, Eren paged through the book she'd left on her nightstand— _The Hunger Games_ by Suzanne Collins. It was a great read. Not as good as _Sharp Objects,_ but close for the young adult genre. He seemed mildly interested, picking up right where she'd left off with no preamble and not a fucking clue what he was reading.

She didn't understand why her stomach did this strange, slow somersault. _No, that's a lie_. Historia knew precisely why. She liked him. More than a friend. It wasn't right. And it was _so_ good, so different. Asking him to kiss her had been a mistake. She couldn't stop thinking about it. The butterflies in her head, fluttering down into her stomach, sickened her. She shouldn't be feeling like this, not when things with Ymir were still so fresh. She'd just finished crying in the shower about it.

Historia didn't know what to do with these feelings other than ignore them.

She stuck her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes. "You better not spoil it for me."

"I have no idea what's even going on. I've never heard of this book."

"It just came out a couple of weeks ago."

"I see," Eren flipped to the next page but kept her bookmark in the former. She was already towards the end of the book. "Who names a guy _Peeta,_ though?" He complained.

She shrugged. "How'm I supposed to know? All their names are weird. The main character's name is Katniss, and the main villain is called President Snow."

He turned another page. "What's with this bread stuff?"

"He threw her a loaf of burned bread, which saved her from starving," Historia explained, folding the clothes hanging out of the drawers back into them and shutting them. "They're in a relationship just for show and survival, but he's had a crush on her since they were kids."

Eren took a moment. "Huh." He closed the book, letting it sit on his stomach. His eyes flicked to her before they drifted away. His brows furrowed in confusion. "Hey, what happened to your lava lamp?"

"Oh. I threw it away."

"Aww," He crowed. "It was so cool. Nobody has those things anymore."

Historia only shrugged a shoulder. "Did you meet the cat while I was gone?"

"Yeah, she came in while you were in the bathroom. I think she was looking for you."

Historia rubbed some leave-in conditioner onto her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. She watched him through the mirror while Eren watched her over the edge of the book, his gaze steady. "Hard to believe. She doesn't like me."

"Maybe she just has a different way of showing it," He offered. "She might not be one for a lot of affection. I tried to pet her, and she almost bit my finger." Eren sighed dramatically, covering his face in shame with the book. "I like cats, but they never seem to like me. I guess I'm meant to be a dog person."

She grinned, combing her hair back until it was sleek and carefully pulling it into a ponytail. "You poor baby," Historia cooed. She turned around to face him, leaning against the edge. "If it makes you feel any better, I did tell you she doesn't like anyone except Frieda."

Historia expected him to react, but he didn't. Not in the way she wanted to. There was something weird going on in her room. His eyes lingered on her face and flashed in disapproval. Eren didn't say over what. Instead, he indicated to her closet with his strong chin, his industrial winking shades of her brass lamp.

There was a necktie dress hanging on the knob of her closet.

"There was another one I liked," Eren admitted, avoiding her questioning eyes by pretending to read. "but you get cold easily. And it's sorta cold out, and it'll probably get colder. So-o…"

She blinked but didn't put up a fight. Historia picked up a few pairs of heels by their straps along the way to her closet and threw them on the floor. She caught his eyes when she looked over her shoulder and made a circular motion with her finger. "Can you, like, turn around or something?"

His brow rose in disbelief. "I've technically already seen you half-naked."

Historia rolled her eyes. "Just don't look this time, okay?"

Eren groaned and set the book on top of his face, lacing his hands on his stomach.

Her laughter faded when she took in his attire. A light wash denim jacket over an olive shirt, his jacket's sleeves folded to his elbows. Charcoal jeans fashionably ripped by the knees. Checkerboard high tops that matched with his shirt sat at the foot of her bed. _Maybe he does have some style…_ The thick Silverstein fuzzy wristband meshed well too.

She smiled quietly and changed. She'd bought this dress years ago on a whim. Her recital required a dress, mostly black and A-line. Or slacks and a blouse, but Historia liked the dress better. Her music teacher raised a brow at the printed carnations and roses but ultimately let it slide. It still fit and still comfy, so that's all that mattered.

"Hey," Historia announced when she was done, planting herself on the edge of her bed. She gathered her ponytail, holding it over her shoulder. "Zip me up."

The bed shifted with his weight. Eren scooted closer. With his ridiculously long arms, he didn't have to. Her breath hitched when his knuckled brushed her exposed skin. Historia dug her nails into her arms, fighting back a shiver. His guitar fingers were surprisingly careful and gentle, pulling the lapels closer like any more demanding, and he might accidentally rip it. His cologne engulfed her senses, earth and wood and a little musty, launching her back to the forest.

Had that all been almost a month ago? They met at the beginning of August, at the tip of summer's end. She'd been shedding almost all her colors around this guy for all of September. And it would continue until the blistering winter. _And then what?_ She'd harden back to ice? Historia couldn't fathom how this all happened in such a short amount of time. And thinking about the after only made her ache.

Her eyes flicked across her room. It was smaller than her room in her father's penthouse and exponentially smaller than her room at the beach house. Still, she never needed a lot of space. Her eyes landed on a framed photograph on her nightstand. It was an old picture—Historia guessed Frieda must've been eleven by those gaudy embellished overalls—of the two of them on their pool deck. Their father's beach house had just finished being built. But that wasn't the one she was drawn to.

It was the four-by-four tucked into the corner, taken on the boardwalk a week before Historia worked the courage to take their friendship further in the eighth grade. There was an art program going on around the area, the walls dripping in wet paintings and abstract sprays, Historia had really wanted to see. Ymir had complained the whole way through, and maybe Historia should've taken that as a sign. They took pictures at a photo booth, silly hats and all. Historia had kept just this one, a goofy faced one, while Ymir had taken the rest. Why did they fall so far apart?

She'd spent so many nights staring at it over the summer, always wondering if it was the right thing—no, it was. She needed to get away from Rod. But that didn't mean she had to give up on Ymir. Maybe she shouldn't have used her sister's relationship as a guide. But it was too late now.

And, honestly, Historia forgot it was even there. She hadn't looked at it in over a month.

She immediately got up and crumpled the picture when Eren finished. He didn't ask, though she could feel his eyes on her.

"You should wear your hair down."

Historia glanced over her shoulder, his face unreadable. She closed the drawer after pulling out a pair of black tights. "Why?"

Eren shrugged. "You never wear it down."

* * *

In his father's SUV, Historia applied her makeup and combed her hair again after.

She took in some of the Shiganshina nightlife passing her by. She and Eren never went out this late. It was well past ten. Historia watched a few owners flip their 'open' signs to 'closed' at stoplights. They passed by the ice cream shop Eren had taken her to. One of the only bars in town teemed with people. Some kids Historia recognized from school littered empty parking lots, smoking and drinking out of brown paper bags on a Friday night.

She hated that they made her think of Ymir. She glanced at the clock again. She'd be going to a party in a few hours. With that girl.

Historia shook her head, fluffing her hair, the scent of her Flowerbomb perfume scenting the interior.

"That smells really nice," Eren blurted.

"Oh, um," She fingered her hair, long enough that it sat just above her chest. "Thanks."

He didn't speak much when he drove unless it was necessary. He was a bit of a road rage driver, though—something she expected. Historia packed her makeup and comb and shoved them under the passenger seat.

One spot made her jaw drop, all her melancholy shoved aside for a second. Like a little kid, she almost squashed her face on the window for a better look. Eren was forced to drive impossibly slow because of cars lining down the one-way street for a chance to get in.

She whipped her head to Eren. "You guys have a drive-in theater?!"

His leg stopped bouncing. "Yeah," Eren didn't look, eyes straight ahead on the empty road, his jaw clenched. "It's nothing special. They'll play classic movies on weekdays, and whatever's current on weekends."

Historia groaned at his indifference. She grabbed his forearm, shaking out his irritable mood at slow traffic. "Shut up—you have to take me there! It's your responsibility as one of my only friends and tour guide…" He cut her a look from the corner of his eye. "And it's on my bucket list." She added, syrupy sweet, clasping her hands together in a prayer gesture. " _Please?"_

A ghost of a smile played across his lips. "I'm not really much of a tour guide anymore since I'm running out of places to show you, but okay. Yeah. I'll take you." Eren poked the side of her head. "But we're only going once. That place is expensive."

Ruth lived on the north side of town. Eren said this was the wealthiest part of town, the slice of life they frequently passed on the way to school. She'd never paid attention before, napping on his arm in the mornings, but now Historia could see exactly why. Most of the houses were Colonials in various colors and floors with lush, green lawns and freshly shaped shrubs. Some of them had Halloween decor already setup. There were a few contemporary houses with beautiful windows but their curtains drawn. Some French-style homes with long, curved driveways accented in lit up pumpkins. Gardens and wrought, iron gates. Clean sidewalks and the most expensive cars dotting the streets, tucked inside garages.

Eren found a space on the curb three houses down, right by a cute little craftsman house. He locked up his father's car. Eren kept to her side; thumbs squeezed between his belt loops like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands. "You drink?"

"A beer if I'm feeling into it," Historia answered, messing with the tie around her collar, tying and retying it on an infinite loop. "You?"

"Dunno yet."

Historia cut him a sly look. "You shouldn't. You're the designated driver."

Eren cast her an equally sly look, rubbing her head. "It takes a lot for me to get drunk."

She frowned, taking his big hand away. "A big guy like you? I'd sure as hell hope you can hold your liquor!"

She wasn't sure if she should hold it or not. She didn't want to let it go either. Historia wasn't sure whether Ruth was exaggerating about _everyone_ being present tonight. Still, Eren hadn't mentioned anything about Mikasa showing up. _No need to put on a show,_ she guessed. Reiner had stopped giving much of a shit about her, so she figured the football team did too. There were only a few kids around, heading towards the same house at the end of the block—none she recognized. Historia let his hand fall.

But Eren grinned, grasping her hand and pulling her along. She had to work to keep up with him, but Historia didn't mind. As long as he didn't let go of her.

Pretty, open windows flanked the green front door of Ruth's two-story Cape Cod home. She caught a chimney on the left corner of the house, not on. Carrie Underwood serenaded about thinking before he cheats. It was one of the only country songs Historia could stomach. There were a few kids huddled around, smoking cigarettes on Ruth's driveway, leaning against cars. They paid them no mind.

It wasn't as cold as she thought it'd be. Historia could honestly forgo her tights. And in the foyer, it was even warmer, the stench of spilled alcohol and a mustiness smoking the air. Eren stayed with her most of the way, both of them pushing and squeezing through the horde. Not exactly swaying to the music and not exactly standing either, most of them talking over the music, red cups raised to their mouths. Historia acknowledged a few people as they made their way down one of the narrow hallways. Eren seemed to know where to go.

In the kitchen, he stopped, frowning. Cheap liquor dotted the marble counter. Eren shook his head. Historia frowned, fingering the empty pizza boxes. Her stomach grumbled. Between baking and homework, she'd only munched on a toast Cherry Poptart. Some people she recognized, a lot she didn't, filtered in and out of the sliding glass doors decorated in pumpkins and bats leading to the backyard.

Eren let go of her hand, circling to the sink and ducking for the cabinets. Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, Historia wandered off, following the people heading for the backyard. She hoped Hitch was here. _Please._ It was the only other way this night would be tolerable. She didn't like being around the squad by herself.

"Historia!" Ruth called as soon as she stepped foot on the slicked, white patio. She beckoned her over. "There you are! I didn't think you'd actually show up!"

Most of the activity was happening out here. An elevated jacuzzi spilled a waterfall into the shallow end of the keyhole pool. A few couples tucked into the jacuzzi, many the volleyball and soccer guys doing tricks off the diving board by the deep end. Kids were blazing it further beyond the pool deck. This girl had a _massive_ backyard. _This is definitely Ymir's kind of party,_ Historia thought, biting her lip. She stepped down the patio and shuffled over to where Ruth was, by the tiki torches and canopy-topped gazebo in the grass. _This is what she always hoped I would throw one day._

Historia was so irritated. Coming here was a fucking mistake already. She should've asked Eren to stop at the theater instead. He'd dressed so nice for such a stupid function like this, and she let it go to waste. She had an urge to pick up one of the beers left at the bar and down the contents.

Smoke leaked out of the steel gazebos privacy walls. Ruth was inside, lounging with some of their girls on the cushioned furniture. Most of the junior girls were accounted for, and several of the basketball guys, Bertolt excluded. All of them sharing joints.

"You look so nice," Ruth said, observing her attire from her hair down to her tied booties. "A little overdressed, I'd say, but still nice!" She grimaced. "I probably should've told you to bring a bathing suit…"

Her nose wrinkled at the strong, musky scent surrounding her. She'd get second hand high in no time. "It's fine." Historia glanced over at the pool. "I don't think there's enough space, anyway."

Sandra pulled a hit, slipping it into Ruth's waiting fingers. She shotgunned it with one of the boys before turning back to Historia. "Your boy here, too?"

"Yeah. He's around."

"Awesome!"

Historia hesitated, not sure why Sandra cared when she paid him no mind during school. She searched around, the scene unchanging, kids in the pool cheering someone on. "Your house is gorgeous, by the way."

Ruth's eyes glinted. "Yours is probably nicer. How many do you have?" When Historia didn't answer, her co-captain tilted her head, a sardonic smile grazing her small mouth. "What, you didn't think I'd figure it out? It takes a spoiled rich girl to know one when they see one."

"Figure what out?" Sandra asked. Ruth didn't answer, staring Historia down.

She clenched her jaw, holding onto her arms. _Of course, she knows._ That explains everything. _How_ did she know, was the better question. Historia honestly thought she could escape her father's influence by chucking herself across the country. Her mood worsened.

"My dad's got a penthouse in downtown Stohess and a beachfront house a few miles away. He mostly stays in his penthouse."

"Holy shit," Sandra exclaimed. "What're you, a millionaire's baby?"

"No. Just the daughter of someone nobody cares about anymore," Ruth pulled a hit, puffing a small cloud into the air above her. "I heard Brenska wants to give you my spot. How much did your dad pay her?"

"I haven't talked to my dad since I moved here," Historia said thinly. "I don't even want your spot. I just wanted to be..."

Her thin brows popped. "That's a likely story," She muttered, flopping her bare legs on Sandra's lap, sticking the joint back in her mouth. Sandra picked up one of the bottles by their feet, grabbing the wine glass by the neck and chugging some of it down.

"By the way, you think your boy can hook us up with something a little better?" Perfect streams spilled out of her nostrils like an enraged bull. "That Floch kid sold this and a couple of pills. I was expecting sparks to fly or some epic bullshit like hearing colors. This is just regular old stuff." She frowned at the blunt, offering it up to Historia.

It took a second to decipher what Ruth was implying. Historia declined the offer. "Eren's not a dealer."

"Oh?" A spiteful little smile crossed Ruth's mouth, raising her small chin. "He didn't tell you?"

Historia raised a brow, dropping her arms. She curled her fingers tighter around her bottle of water, careful not to crunch it. "Tell me what?"

Her co-captain shrugged. "Ask him."

All she wanted was to roll her eyes. Or punch her. The second was more likely if she didn't get out of here. _She's just baiting me._ A lot of these kids had grown up together, like Eren repeated time and time, weaving in and out of cliques, tumbling their way from friendship to friendship until they found the right people. Ruth wanted to have the upper hand on her somehow, so she dug her manicured nails as low into the dirt as she could. _That's too low, even for her._

Without bidding Ruth goodbye, Historia downed the rest of her water and crushed the bottle. She was sorely disappointed Hitch wasn't here, but she wasn't surprised to catch the sight of Reiner. She thought she'd still be furious with him. All of this bullshit kept circling back to Reiner.

Historia didn't have anything but shock when he started to strip, all the way down to his Mickey Mouse boxers. He shoved those off, too, a scarlet flush brightening his cheeks. Marcel whooped behind him, hyping Reiner up. Porco, perpetually annoyed and above it all, shook his head. The younger Galliard didn't make a move to stop his brother nor their best friend. Historia grimaced along with Porco when people in the pool followed Marcel and cheered Reiner on before dashing into a cannonball.

She wondered where Eren was. She didn't see him anywhere out there.

Historia made one round through the house and found Eren in what Historia assumed was the living room, given the large flatscreen mounted on the wall and the long, L-shaped couch. There was no door, just an arched threshold strung with black swirls of witches and ghosts she had to push aside. Eren had rooted himself in the corner of the couch, sipping on something dark in a red solo cup. He kept passing snide glances at the couple occupying the farthest corner, making out. Any second now, and clothes would be coming off. _Ugh._

She took his cup, still mostly full of something black and sweet-smelling, and gulped down most of it. It tasted just as sweet as it smelled.

Eren flexed his bare fingers, shooting her a pout before his eyes flashed in alarm. "Yikes. Did something happen?"

"You could say that," She dabbed at the corner of her mouth. That _feeling_ came back when she took him in. There was something so different about him. Maybe it was the trick of the lamp. Historia couldn't have gotten second hand high _that_ quick, but the amount they'd been puffing... "What is it?"

"Rum and Coke. What happened?"

Historia hummed in approval, plopping down at his side. "Stupid girl stuff that'll probably bore you," She pressed her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Maybe if the music industry doesn't work out for you, you should consider bartending."

"Can't ever go wrong with the basics," Eren smiled slyly, flexing his arm behind the couch, his hand not quite touching her shoulder. She picked up her head, sipping quietly. "My mom taught me how to mix a few. She bartends. You sure you don't wanna talk about it?"

"Yeah. Positive." She finally realized what it was after staring a little too long—the lighting definitely helped uncover the mystery. Historia reached, her finger sliding down the curve of his ear. A small black plug. "When'd you get gauges?"

Eren inclined his head just the slightest into her touch. "Last night."

Historia frowned, pulling on his lobe. "Weren't you supposed to be _practicing_?"

He flinched at the discomfort, but Eren didn't yelp or complain. "We did. And then Pieck showed us a pack she bought, so she gave me her old pair. My mom was freaking out this morning, screaming at my old man to come home because she saw blood on my pillow."

Historia almost choked on the sip. "You went in _dry_?" She sputtered.

Eren scratched his jaw. "It wasn't that bad," He pacified, dull. "It barely tickled."

She shook her head. "Yikes, Eren!" Historia tucked her legs to the side since there was still a lot of space. "I can't lie, though. I've always wanted a daith."

He brushed aside her hair with his index finger to inspect the placement. The hairs on the back of her neck stood. "You should," Eren said.

"A—And a belly button piercing," He aimed his index finger at her stomach, but Historia pushed away, putting space between them. Good thing, too. She was definitely beginning to feel some type of way, being so close to him. "No, don't you even think about it, jerk. I'm ticklish!"

Eren smirked, taking his hand away. "That's probably one of the worst things you could ever tell me."

Historia groaned. She ended up scooting back against him when a new pair drifted into the room, flouncing beside her, talking about whether or not they were hitting up the club later tonight. Historia forewent all thought, pushing herself flush to his side, draping her legs across Eren's lap. He blinked but didn't protest.

"... Do you think it'll hurt?"

"I'm... not the best person to ask," Eren pointed at his ear as an example, taking the cup back from her. He swung his arm over her head, his hand landing on her knee. "High pain tolerance."

Her jaw almost dropped. "You did the industrial _yourself_?"

"No way!" His face contorted. "I don't think I'd have much of an ear if it were up to me."

Historia lolled her head back, the very top of it grazing his arm. The couch was expensive. It smelled of new leather, and, honestly, it was uncomfortable. More so with that couple at the very corner who just wouldn't stop going at it.

She leaned into him. "Can't they get a room?"

"I've been wondering about that since I got here, but I guess they're all taken by now." She scoffed and turned when she felt Eren staring at her. He didn't beat around the bush, bulleting right through it like he did just about everything else. "What're you doing here, Historia?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean, you don't have to stick around me," He elaborated, jutting his chin in the direction she came from. "You can go back. I'm sure there are more people you know. I'll stay here until you wanna go."

His statement stunned her for a moment. _Is he trying to make me go away?_ And what for? She didn't want to believe Ruth—no, she did. That was just stereotypical bullshit she spewed. Maybe she didn't know Eren was Hispanic, but Historia couldn't care less for her reasoning. It was rude—plain and simple.

"Eren," Historia smiled slightly. "Did you really expect me to dump you here until it was time to go?"

He stopped the cup centimeters from his mouth. "Uh. Yeah." Eren admitted. He took a small sip, scratched his jaw, then dropped his hand to her knee. "Parties were never my thing, but we always went whenever Jean threw one. He lives a couple of houses down—" Eren pointed to the right with a finger. "—that way. Where I parked wasn't too far from his house."

"I see."

"Reiner also gets invited to parties a lot. For obvious reasons."

"Oh. I just saw him butt-ass naked out there."

Eren grimaced and dropped his head against his forearm. "Not surprised," He muttered, rubbing his forehead on his jacket sleeve. "He's a fucking lightweight. Marcel's a bit of an enabler," He stroked her knee with his thumb. Historia didn't think Eren realized what he did, but she did; his touch absolutely scorching.

"Yeah… I see that." She squirmed a tiny bit. "Marcel was right on his back."

"Always is."

Historia surveyed the room once more, though not much had changed in a few minutes. Except for the music. It'd moved on from country to hip-hop. Good hip-hop. "Big Poppa" by Notorious B.I.G. smoothed through the speakers parked outside and the two scattered in the house.

"This party's not…"

"...what you expected?"

Historia faced him. "Yeah, it…" She stopped. "It just reminds me of the ones from back home. My ex was super obsessed with going to every single one, and she'd drag me along since I never had anything better to do. She begged me to throw some, but I never wanted to," Historia shrugged. "We were popular kids, but I wasn't close to anyone besides her, so I didn't see the need, you know? Why would I invite people I don't care about into my home?"

"Yeah. I get it."

She bit her lip. "At least some of them had dancing. I don't get it," Historia indicated to the hallway in front of them, a standing crowd blocking most of the hallway. "How can they not dance to Biggie?"

"Because Tupac's better."

She cut him a glare. "You can't dance to him, though."

Eren shrugged, placing the empty cup on the stand. "Doesn't make him any less better than Biggie."

Historia pouted. "I think our friendship just ended."

" _Sad_. I actually liked you."

For once, she was thankful she'd listened to him and wore her hair down. Her cheeks were pink. Historia chewed her lip, chasing away a hundred different responses.

She settled for tugging on his jacket cuff. "By the way, I want this. It's cute."

"What?" Eren glanced down at his denim jacket like he forgot he was wearing it. "No. Absolutely not."

Historia fluted her lashes, pouting. His face twitched, just the slightest. She almost grinned in triumph. _So much for it not working on him._ "No, Historia. C'mon!" He crowed childishly. "You already have two of my sweaters. This is my favorite jacket!"

"You mean, our jacket," She corrected, scrutinizing it once more. Historia grinned. "Aww! It even has cute little band buttons!" She cooed, touching one. "I love Rage Against the Machine. Now I really want it."

His face scrunched. "No. It's mine."

"Ours. Nuestro," Eren narrowed his eyes at her use of Spanish. But he couldn't correct her. "I told you, it's lesson number fourteen: your stuff automatically becomes hers—in this case, mine. What's yours is mine, and what's mine is mine." He rolled his eyes. "That's just how it is, Eren! You should be taking notes of these rules!"

"I'm paying attention, but I hate this," He muttered, shaking his head. "This isn't far."

"Don't be such a crybaby!" She pulled on his cheek, grinning. "It's just clothes."

Eren moved his head, opening his mouth. He suddenly tensed, his fingers pressing into the skin of her knee. It didn't bother, but Historia followed his alert eyes. Jean and Mikasa were walking through the hallway.

Jean was the first to spot them, his sharp amber eyes widening in surprise. "Eren. Hey," He greeted over the pounding music.

Eren didn't say anything back.

 _He's not a bad looking guy,_ Historia thought, observing him. And Jean seemed to like dressing nice, too—Ruth would probably consider him _a little overdressed_ with his collared polo, slacks, and puffy red coat. He'd jumped straight out of a men's fashion magazine with his sandy hair slicked back. His face was a little too long for her liking. _Eren might not be totally off with the horse comparisons._

Jean stepped towards them, reaching to pull the swirls away from his face. "How're you doing—"

Mikasa appeared, cutting Jean off by seizing his wrist. She chanced a glance at them, and Historia caught a flash of something in her charcoal eyes. It was too quick for her to pinpoint what emotion—jealousy? She looked beautifully gloomy, though—a vintage, lace black dress with a splash of red fishnets spiderwebbing down her arms and legs. Her silky black hair was done up with artfully applied chopsticks, her makeup dark around the eyes and red lips. And her usual, weathered combat boots. _She wears those boots at the restaurant, too,_ Historia noted. She couldn't imagine they were comfortable.

Mikasa swooped in front of Jean, guiding him towards their destination with words Historia couldn't hear and could barely decipher with the decoration in the way. Jean looked to them, torn. He let himself be led away.

A second later, a mousy blonde kid she vaguely recognized squeezed through the bodies. He had an awful bowl cut and square-framed glasses that didn't quite accentuate his boyish face. He followed the trail of Mikasa's skirt. An equally dorky, freckle-faced kid right on his heels, Historia also recognized.

Historia pointed after the blond. "I think he's in my Spanish class."

"That's Armin," Eren told her.

"Oh. And that other boy—"

"Marco."

"—he's in my math class."

Eren didn't add anything else. He was mad. Or sad. Or both. Still, she laid her head on his shoulder. He didn't push her away. More kids from their school gradually poured into the hallway, now streaming into this room in pairs and triplets to avoid the congestion. She'd check the time, but Historia left her phone in Eren's car.

"You wanna get outta here?"

Historia nodded.

* * *

Historia ignored the sting in the back of her throat, letting the smoke settle into her lungs. The first hit was always the worst—a shockwave of chemicals coursing through her in a chaotic jumble. It tasted bland, but she preferred her weed that way. Ymir had always been the one for the more tasteful kind.

She wanted to shake her head, shake the thought of that stupid girl away, but Historia feared it might fall off. One hit, and she was already _gone._

"Hey," She announced a little too loudly. She remembered to exhale, handing the joint back to Eren. She almost coughed. "Y—You never told me how you got Titan," Historia grinned. "She's _so_ adorable."

"I was walking back to my mom's car when she came up to me."

"That's _all_?" She pressed when Eren just stopped. " _What_ a story. _All_ those immaculate details. Encore, please!" She clapped sarcastically.

"No, no, no," He blubbered, head lolling from side to side. Eren cracked a goofy grin. "I think she came up to me because she wanted food. But I didn't have anyway." His tone suddenly dropped, crumbling in a way that wasn't Eren _at all._ It almost made her laugh because he was so serious! "She looks so helpless, Historia. She was so skinny. No collar, too," Eren sighed, the smoke of the joint curling around him. "I couldn't just leave her there. She was just so cute. Una bebé—mi bebé." He trilled.

"And now she's fat."

"My dog's not fat! She's muscular."

She giggled. "Look at you go, Superman," Historia threw out her arms and rocked them from side-to-side like they were flying in midair and not sitting in the back of his father's SUV. "Saving all the doggies."

Well, Eren was sitting. Historia chose to lay on the floor bed, using his jacket as a pillow. He'd popped open the hood. It blocked a square of the night sky, the stars smeared like a monochrome painting. She always loved looking at the sky, but the hood blocking it off kind of pissed her off. But she was too comfortable to move and stand outside.

Eren giggled at her antics—that little weed giggle where everything and nothing was absolutely hilarious. It was so cute. "Fuck him. He's too much of a good guy. Batman's way better," Eren pulled a hit, exhaled. "Well, my favorite's actually Jason Todd."

Historia blinked, slowly. "Wow. I was just trying to give you a compliment, doofus, and that obviously failed. You are such a _nerd!_ "

He giggled. "Yeah. I guess I can be a nerd sometimes. You seem to like it."

"Ugh. It's more like you're so predictable, you're _boring._ "

A lazy smile stretched his lips. Even covered in shadows, she could see the glint in his eyes. "If I'm so boring, I guess that makes you boring, too, Historia. You seem to like sticking around me."

"We're going out, Eren—where else am I gonna go besides to you?"

He laughed. "True."

She stared and didn't bother looking away when they caught eyes. Almost all her inhibitions were gone. Historia realized she could probably look at this guy forever. "Hey, Eren?"

His brow raised. "What?"

"What's your favorite dinosaur?"

His face contorted before Eren chuckled, rubbing his head. "Uh." She could almost hear all the rusty gears in his brain grinding to spit out the answer. "... Does Chomper from _The Land Before Time_ count?"

"I've never seen those."

" _What?"_ He exclaimed. "Those movies were so good, but some of them were so sad, Historia. When Little Foot's grandfather—"

"Ah!" Historia immediately covered her ears, banging on her head. Her blood pounded in her ears. "Don't spoil it! And I don't wanna be sad, so I won't watch them!"

"You're sorely missing out."

"I doubt it," She let her hands fall, watching as Eren pulled another drag. "Hey, Eren?"

He smirked. "What?"

Historia pointed behind her, almost smacking herself in the face from the rapid movement. "When you look out there, what do you see?"

His lip curled at the scenery to the side of him. After scooping up some chips and hotdogs from the only open 7-Eleven on the way, Eren plopped them in a trendy hangout spot within the town. It overlooked the sliver of space where the fall festival and Halloween fair would be held, right behind the strip of shops Eren said was the outdoor mall. The smaller rides were complete in the parking lot. The Ferris Wheel was a skeleton of what it'd soon become.

Three other cars were parked around them. Historia figured it was usually packed on a Friday night, but most kids must be at Ruth's party. One of them had a decently installed stereo system, Jim Morrison crooning about loving her madly. She'd been shocked to see that kid on their block—Historia couldn't remember his name, didn't care—and to find out he was a dealer. He sold it cheap and pre-rolled to Eren when he mentioned Pieck's name. According to Eren, the guy was infatuated with her.

He knocked his head back on the windshield. That giggly mood of his from earlier was gone. "A tiny, desolate, washed-up town."

Historia felt so weightless. Jell-O. She didn't want to talk about heavy topics. She wanted to forget. Wanted her senes to be utterly dull, so she didn't have to _think._ "Can I be honest with you, Eren?"

"Always."

She held out her hand to him. "I don't think this is as bad as you think it is. The geography is gorgeous, just not the people."

"The people are what make the town."

"It depends."

"You would say that, Historia," He said. "You haven't lived here your whole life," He told her callously, forking the blunt over. She swallowed, the kindle when their fingers touched too much to bear right now. "You're lucky you've gotten to see what's out there."

Historia frowned, inhaling another drag. _Always so serious._

"It is what it is."

Fuck. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. The smoke billowed between them before the chill night swallowed it.

Historia pursed her lips. "Whatever. You'll see that big city life isn't all it's caked up to be," She pulled his jacket from under her, draping it across her front. It'd dropped a couple of degrees since they left Ruth's house. "Once you cut a slice, you'll see," She insisted, indicating with a weak flick of her head. "You're never gonna get a view like that out there. Unless you live in a penthouse."

He reached over, heated body hovering above her for the briefest second before Eren snatched the blunt from her. She hated how her heart quickened. "Which, I'm sure you did."

Historia almost went speechless. "I lived mostly in a beach house."

"Well," Eren began, blowing the smoke out. She wondered if he could do any tricks. A little birdie told her Annie might be the one with all those cool tricks. "Your dad must make good money. A beach house in Stohess? That's a dream. Even I don't care for the water."

Historia tugged on the knot of her tie, loosening it. "Something like that," She said, blasé. And because she was so loose from the weed, Historia spilled, "My father's been running the company since he turned twenty."

"Huh. I see."

"Yeah…" Historia lifted the thin, tie string before dropping it. She tucked her arms under his jacket, waiting for the warmth and the next hit to soothe her. "Can we not talk about this anymore?"

"Fine," Eren conceded, raising both palms. A silence drifted through them, filled with a song Historia swore she heard in a movie, but her swimming mind couldn't pinpoint which one. Lyrics about cards in the front yard and sleeping with clothes on. She kind of liked it. Eren knew it, humming and lightly tapping his foot to the beat.

Her father always said there were two types of people in the world—those who listen to music and those who live within it. Eren built a home in it, desperate to furnish it.

And if he ever did, Historia knew she would lose him.

She closed her eyes.

"Are you ever gonna tell me what's going on?"

She blinked at him, brows furrowed. "What?"

"You've been acting weird since I called you yesterday," Eren said, then pause. "Actually, you've been acting weird for a while. I can't figure it out."

Her mouth went dry. Historia shrugged it off, tugging his jacket tighter around her. "It's nothing, Eren."

" _Stop_ doing that, Historia."

His snap was quiet, but it got through, startling her. "Do… what?"

Maybe it was because of how long she'd spent being around Eren that she could tell he'd scrunched his face even in the shadows of night. "Say it's nothing. You always do that, Historia." He shook his head, dropping his leg and leaning forward, moving his earnest face into the pale moonlight. "Look, I don't expect you to tell me everything. I don't think that's possible for anyone, but… just… don't act like it's nothing, okay? It's obviously something if it bothers you."

She should've known he'd reach a boiling point with her and call her out on her bullshit. It seemed like everyone did. Historia wiggled her toes, her booties discarded in the backseat, along with Eren's shoes. What were feet? And legs? And arms? And a body thrumming with blood, and a heart churning with feelings?

"It's… a lot."

"One thing at a time, mama. I've got nothing better to do."

Historia smiled slightly. That nickname was really growing on her. She wasn't sure when Eren started it, but she didn't want it to stop. She extended her hand, pouting at him. "Who knew weed would make you so pushy."

Eren passed it to her, a small smile on his lips. "I'm always like this."

"You really had me fooled," She muttered.

"Quit stalling."

She groaned. Slowly, she sat up, his jacket sliding off her. Historia faced him, tucking her legs to the side. Her tongue was nicely numb now. She exhaled at the roof of his father's truck, the night carrying it on. She hadn't been keen on smoking in the trunk, but Eren said his dad wouldn't care. He'd smoked weed in his youth and still remembers what it's like being a teenager. She wanted to giggle at that again—his dad sounded so funny and nice—the complete opposite of hers.

Her flippancy was short-lived. Eren's stare was so intense. Too intense. She shoved some hair out of her face. "Well. Uh. I guess the most important part is that Ymir finally called."

"Yeah? That's great."

Historia nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on the tendrils of smoke emitting from the blunt, coiling in the air, creating shapes she couldn't name. "Yeah... We're over. Never getting back together. Nada. she doesn't wanna be friends."

His face fell. "I'm sorry to hear."

"It's fine, Eren."

His eyes flashed. "No, Historia. It's not."

She knew it wasn't. It was a sharp knife poking the soft, tender meat of her heart every time she thought about it. "I think the worst part was how insanely jealous she got. When Ymir gets jealous, there's no stopping her, no way to calm her down," Historia shook her head, hot tears pricking the corners of her eyes. But she wouldn't.

"I do get it," She snatched the blunt back, letting it burn deliciously in the back of her throat before exhaling. "I'm bisexual. For her, there's always that _fear_ that I'll leave her for a guy. But it's ridiculous. She knows me! Or, I thought she did," Historia palmed her temples. "I don't know anymore."

His head veered to the side. "What exactly happened?"

She pursed her lips, then frowned at him. "One of the yearbook kids took a couple of photos of Reiner and me after the games. Ymir saw them on Facebook and, just," Historia pantomimed an explosion with her hands.

Eren laughed, a laugh straight from his stomach, dropping his head into his crossed legs.

Historia smacked his shoulder. "Not funny, jerk! She _knows_ jocks aren't my type—I haven't even accepted this guy's friend request!" Historia huffed when Eren didn't stop laughing. She knew she would ruin what was between them if she kept going, but the weed was incapacitating her, all her reasoning flying out the open window.

She just didn't care anymore.

"I'd get it if she got jealous over you or Annie, but nope," She popped the 'p,' and started to rub a hand over her heated face, then remembered about her makeup, and _ugh._ She dropped it back on her thigh, shaking her head. "I still can't believe it. All those years we had together gone because fucking Reiner fucking Braun ruined everything once again," Historia shrugged. "So, that's my life now, I guess."

Eren's laughter finally ceased. A line appeared between his brows when he regarded her. He reached over, taking the blunt from her. It was almost finished—just a few more pulls left. "Wait. Why me?"

Historia looked right into his eyes, her face blank. "C'mon, Eren."

He closed his mouth, turning his head from side to side. "... Where're we going?"

She rolled her eyes. _How can you be so smart and so dense at the same time?_

Eren frowned.

 _Ugh._ Word vomit. Historia shook her head, a fuzz for a brain. "Do I really have to say this?"

"Uh. Yeah, apparently, 'cause I don't get it."

" _You_ are my type, Eren."

Eren hacked, pounding his chest with a fist. It took him a few unsatisfying seconds to calm down. "I'm sorry— _what?_ "

"You _and_ Annie," She clarified, gesticulating at all of him, "are exactly my type." Historia leaned back on her hands, stretching her neck. "Well, maybe not so much Annie, because I don't have, like, a preference for blondes… Buuut… Mr. Smith's hot. And so's Annie." She shrugged.

She gazed out at the darkness and the sprinkles of street lamps and the sky full of stars. Eren didn't say anything. For a long time. Historia kept stealing glances at him, but Eren just sat there, staring at his feet, the blunt willowing away. Her heart was pounding. It felt like it was in her head. She wished she could see his face.

"I... really don't have a type, Historia."

She burst into a giggle, all of her nerves and anxiety gone. "You have to have a hair preference—at the very least!"

"No, I just..." Eren scratched his head. "I like whatever I like." Eren looked at her. "I have to get to know the person before I decide. Looks don't make it or break it for me."

"Yeah. I guess that makes sense," She nodded, leaning over and plucked the blunt from him. "You're a hopeless romantic," Historia jeered before leaning back and inhaling.

He watched her, biting his lip. "So, what're you gonna do?" Eren asked, quietly, and clarified after a beat, "About Ymir."

"What is there to do?" Historia countered, shifting into a supine position. The mat was a little itchy even through the polyester fabric of her dress. "She already came into the conversation with her own ideas and refused to listen to anything I had to say. She also accused me of moving on—and maybe she was right about that," Historia shrugged, glaring at the ceiling of the trunk. "She found someone else, too—this girl that used to hang around us because she really liked Ymir. When we were on the phone, Ymir used her to get back at me, and it failed miserably because of how much I didn't care... So. That's it, I guess."

"... You really think that's the right thing to do?" Eren asked after a while, sounding just as conflicted as she felt. "Just… let her go? Without… I dunno, without putting up a fight?"

She let out a chortle, handing the weed back to him once she'd puffed and exhaled. "'Putting up a fight?' What is this, a wrestling match?" She giggled, shaking her head lightly. "I can't fight a fucking brick wall. What's the point? I'm tired of breaking my bones, trying. It's not worth it. I didn't stay, she didn't stay—she wants me to go back, and I don't want to go back. So we're over."

"I see."

She turned to him, searching for his eyes in the shadows. "You know, Eren, you're a great listener."

"Why do you sound so surprised?" He chuckled. "I told you I'd listen to you."

Historia smiled to herself. Her eyes flicked back to what she could see of the starry night. If she tilted her head back, she could see more. She could just sit up again, but she felt lazy.

"So, what else is there?" Eren probed after a while. "You said it was a lot."

"Oh. Uh. Well. My sister keeps telling me I should make a profit from my baking. She says I'd make a decent fortune here. Like, maybe, open a bakery in a few years?"

"Huh," He let out, pensive. "That's… That's actually not a bad idea. Your stuff's amazing, Historia."

She flushed. "Thanks."

"I gave Annie some of that cheesecake you made this morning," Eren added. "Annie likes most sweets, but cheesecake and red velvet are her weakness."

"Oh. Good," Historia grinned. She knew about Eren's weakness for cheeseburgers, but she wasn't a great cook. Frieda would have to teach her that. "I was trying to impress her the most," She joked. "And Zacharias. Hey, did I tell you I passed his test? Barely, but still!"

He laughed, amazing she'd remembered that piece of advice he'd given her over two months and some weeks ago. "Anything else?"

Her joy washed away. _My dad might be coming to town._

"Is that good or bad?"

Historia let her eyes drift closed. "I don't know yet."

Yellowcard's "Only One" wavelength riff creviced between them. She remembered the night their album was released. Rod had paced in the living room, clutching his Nokia to his ear, mumbling at one of his representatives that they should've fought harder to get them signed. Historia was glad they didn't. Rod would've changed them into something else. And then she wouldn't love this album as much as she did.

Historia sighed with her whole body. "I love this song."

"Me too." Eren shuffled a little closer. Not much, just a smudge, like he was ready to take it back immediately. "Wanna shotgun?"

She whipped her head to him. He was leaning forward, sincere face out into the sliver of moonlight. Historia took in his inscrutable expression, his blacked-out eyes that made her heart race. She dared a glance at his lips before her eyes fluttered to meet his sharp gaze. He noticed.

"Are you serious?"

His face fell. "I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't," Eren lifted the quarter inch of the blunt. "There's not much."

"… You do know what it is, right?"

Eren squinted. "Yes, Historia. I've done it, like, twice," He fired back. Eren immediately softened, realizing her implication. He added, "It doesn't have to be a big deal. It doesn't need to mean anything."

"You and I both know it'll mean something."

He scratched the back of his neck. "We can figure it out some other time."

She breathed. She'd done it with a few people too—Ymir, mostly—but that didn't stop her still her hummingbird heart. "Okay."

Everything seemed to slow. It was torturous.

He planted his knees on either side of her, hoisting himself above her. His hair fell around him, not long yet and not quite sure, and Historia felt herself reaching up to brush some of it away from his face. His eyes dipped to her lips, hesitant, before Eren inhaled—not much, just enough that was comfortable. She wanted to say something, but his eyes left her speechless.

His guitar fingers grazed her jawline, his large hand wrapping around her throat. Her insides trembled. A stupid little touch and she was ablaze more than any drug effect could conquer. Eren brushed his thumb across her bottom lip before he closed the distance, sealing his mouth over hers. There was something so irrevocably heady about this—the softness of his lips, the hand holding her throat, his warm body slotted right above hers, the smoke and air filling her lungs that didn't belong to her. Historia soaked it all in the same, holding his face.

Too quick, Eren drew back, not a vast distance—enough to open his blackened eyes and drink in the sight of her as Historia exhaled to the side. "Was that okay?" He whispered.

"You could give me more," She coaxed, scratching the nape of his neck with her nails. "I can take it."

Eren shook his head, smirking. "That's my girl."

He gave it to her again. Her eyes fluttered closed again. She lost herself in the smallest pressure of his lips. His thumb traced her jawline, a whisper touch. It felt so much better than the first time, but not enough to satiate her. She wanted to wrap herself around him, twist their limbs together until there was nowhere else for them to go but into each other.

Eren pulled back, about to inhale the last bit left when Historia broke out of her daze just enough to press her shaky hands to his shoulders. "Lemme do it."

"Yeah," He murmured with a lazy smile. "Whatever you want."

She flipped him over—or he let her, Historia wasn't sure—straddling him with her knees pinned by his hips. She fumbled for the remainder of a joint in his fingers. Eren watched her pull what was left, biting his lip. A thrill swooped down her spine at the ravenous gleam in his eyes. He always liked watching her like she was the most fascinating creature on the entire planet. She flicked the joint onto the grovel.

Eren wasted no time, meeting her halfway, taking in everything she had to offer. His fingers twisted in her hair. He pressed on the small of her back with his other hand, effectively guiding her down to lay on him. She was putty under his hands, content to let him do what he wanted. When Eren pulled away to exhale, it felt like the most gripping loss. And time was lost to her.

The music had stopped, but they didn't, trading leisurely kisses, replacing the quiet with their hushed groaning. Historia didn't know for how long, didn't care. His hair formed a black pool on his father's trunk, her own hair adding to the swirl. His hands stayed where they were; the one on her neck occasionally squeezing her hair, sometimes tilting her head. Her nerves flared in that spot where his hand didn't move from her back. A heat stacked between them that nulled the cold from the night beyond them.

Her patience was beginning to run. Historia never had much of it, and she wasn't afraid to get whatever it was she wanted. Now was no exception. Her greedy hands glided under his shirt, feeling more of him; his racing heart, the groove of his lean muscles, taut like guitar strings. She scraped her nails on his heated, trembling skin.

"Fuck, Historia," Eren groaned, his wrecked sound traveling down south of her body. He hooked a finger into the neck of her dress, yanking it down, finding whatever piece of skin he could sink his teeth into. "Tus manos se sienten bien."

She bit her lip, stifling her moan. Eren seemed to be teetering on his own edge, rolling them over. His lips left her seeking mouth, pulling his shirt over his head, exposing himself to the night, the hint of moonlight washing over him.

She was breathless for a second. "You are so pretty," She murmured, feeling his pulse, his frantic heartbeat that mimicked hers. She touched a strand of hair when Eren braced his arms by her head.

"Thanks," He said, uncertain, but his dark eyes glinted in amusement. "I think."

Historia grinned, brushing some of his hair back. "You're a pretty guy, Eren—it's a compliment!"

Eren shook his head, nuzzling her nose. "And you say I'm the one who needs help."

"You do—" She kissed her teeth when Eren took her by the hips, jerking them into a sitting position. He crushed his mouth back to hers, his hands skating up to cup her face. He held her like a delicate thing yet licked into her mouth like he owned her. Historia loved the right amount of sweetness and commanding, the electric currents shooting through her veins. Her head floated with every kiss, her body coming alive in a way it hadn't in so long.

His hands didn't seem to know where to stay—grasping hips, caressing her thighs, digging into her waist. He never ventured further. Eventually, he did start tugging on her tights. His impatience ripped them. Historia didn't care. She tried to help him get them off without breaking their kiss. She only ripped them more. Eventually, Historia broke away, yanking the stringy fabric off her legs, and tossed it behind him, into the backseat. His hands returned to her thighs, so calloused and blazing and _amazing_ , but not moving. He only dug into her flesh when her tongue battered his.

It frustrated her. Historia whined in desperation. She could feel how much he wanted her. She never expected him to take his sweet time.

"Touch me more," Historia whispered against his bruised mouth. " _Please, Eren_."

Her agony made him stop, hold her waist. Eren pressed his forehead against hers. "You should... tell me to stop..." He bit his lip, his eyes wild and uncertain and craving. "This isn't..."

Historia shook her head slowly. She reached behind her, tugging her zipper down with a delay that wasn't sexy _at all_. Her cheeks burned. She just wanted to seize the moment. Eren chuckled lowly and helped, rolling the zipper down, sliding the polyester off her arms. They let the rest of the material fall on its own, pooling around her waist. Goosebumps pricked her skin, a pleasant blend of the crisp night behind her and the anticipation in front of her.

Eren roved his eyes over every inch of exposed skin, biting his lip. She'd never been nervous in front of anyone before. But the way Eren stared...

"Hermosa," He finally breathed.

She broke into a giggle, a flush spreading across her cheeks. Historia dropped her forehead to this, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I haven't taken off my bra yet!"

"Still," He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He kissed her neck. Historia bit her lip. He kissed more of the sensitive skin, moving down to her clavicle. She sighed into his hair, nails scratching his shoulders in approval. Eren matched her sigh into the hollow of her neck, his hands feeling every space of her back. She arched into his touch, pressing her chest to his, his insistent kisses moving up. "You're beautiful. So beautiful," He murmured, cupping her head and turning her for another kiss.

Her cheeks burned, mouth parting to let his tongue in again. He let her go, leaving her dizzy, moving back to her neck. He nipped. Historia squirmed in his lap, a slight prick of pain from where he'd bit her before, but Eren held her tight. "That feels so good, Eren," She whispered against his hair. She nibbled in his ear, minding the coolness of his industrial. "Don't stop."

Eren helped her out of the rest of her dress, the fabric coasting along her goosebumped skin. He used their clothes to create a makeshift blanket. It was uncomfortable, but anything was a lot better than laying half-naked on an itchy mat. They could always move for the backseat, but here was a little more spacious. And she wouldn't have to worry about a seatbelt buckle digging into either of their backs. He gazed at her again. She swallowed.

He left her for just a moment, reaching out and shutting the hood, plunging them in a curtain of darkness. It blocked out most of the cold, but Eren had left his father's windows open. Historia shivered.

Eren returned after shoving his jeans off, climbing over her. Though the tinted windshield veiled most of the moonlight, Historia caught the hesitant flicker crossing his eyes. "You sure you won't want me to stop?"

Historia shook her head lightly, grabbing his face, kissing him. "Not unless I tell you."

He didn't.


End file.
